


Beyond the Mirror's Edge

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Curses, Dark Magic, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mystery, New Years, POV Draco Malfoy, Phoenixes, Redeemed Draco, Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is dead!  A spell goes wrong in Advanced Charms class, leaving nothing but a charred ring and a pair of empty shoes.  Draco Malfoy must figure out what happened and try to bring Harry back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Draco Malfoy was in the library when he heard the news. He was studying for his last exam before winter break when a clamor from the corridor broke his concentration. He pressed his hands over his ears and tried to block it out, telling himself he wasn’t interested in whatever had his fellow students so riled up. But his curiosity was greater than his desire to commit advanced potion formulas to memory.

Sighing with annoyance he closed his textbook and tried to glean what the excitement was about without having to join the fray and appear interested. He was certain he could hear crying. Yes, someone was wailing and the sound was spreading. He couldn't hold out any longer, he had to know.

He swept his books into his bag and shrank it down to pocket size. Affecting a disinterested air he casually exited as though the timing were purely coincidental. The throng in the corridor was growing as classrooms emptied all at once.

"How can he be dead?" an anguished voice rose above the din as the crush of students in the hallway pushed towards the stairs.

"Who is dead?" Draco asked a sixth-year girl with tears streaming down her face.

"Harry!" She sobbed and shoved past him, too distraught to explain.

"What?" Draco was certain she was wrong. Or she meant a Harry he didn't know.

"Who's dead?" He grabbed the arm of a fifth-year Slytherin student who seemed more annoyed than upset.

"Harry Potter," the boy rolled his eyes. "Someone blasted him in Advanced Charms class. Left nothing behind but his shoes."

He said more but Draco couldn't hear him. For some reason his ears had stopped working. All he could hear was the rush of his own blood. His eyes swam and his legs felt like rubber and the whole room seemed to tilt around him.

"Malfoy!" Blaise Zabini showed up at his elbow, snapping him out of it. "Wonderful day today," he grinned maliciously.

"Oh, certainly," Draco nodded, trying to conceal his shock. He casually braced himself against the wall to stay upright as the corridor resettled around him.

"I can't wait to hear what old McGonagall has to say about it," Blaise nudged him along and they continued with the flow of students to the ground floor. Out of instinct everyone was heading to the Great Hall, even though no assembly had been called yet. But when the Wizarding World's greatest hero was blasted into non-existence, everyone assumed a statement would be made.

Draco moved with the swarm through the grand foyer and glanced to the fringe of the crowd where a small group of teachers had gathered. Granger and Weasley arrived in a rush and beckoned for them to follow. Draco ducked through the mass of students and trailed closely behind.

"We don't know yet," Granger was saying breathlessly as they rushed to the Charms classroom. She was clutching Professor Trelawney's arm and tugging her along. "We were hoping you could help us find out."

They ran into the Charms classroom where a handful of students, Headmistress McGonagall and several other staff members were gathered. Seamus Finnigan was crouched on the floor sobbing, and Luna Lovegood was holding him and rocking him gently.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmured sweetly. “It was an accident.”

Up on the second riser a charred ring marked the floor and in the middle was a pair of shoes, Harry Potter’s shoes, and nothing else. Draco couldn’t help staring. Was that really all that was left of him?

"Tell me what happened," Professor Trelawney held a rather large crustal ball over the shoes.

"We were practicing a protection charm," Granger piped up. "Seamus sneezed in the middle of his and the charm hit Harry. And then he just disappeared."

"He's dead!" Seamus wailed. "I killed Harry!"

"We don't know that he's dead yet," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "Sybill, what can you see?"

Professor Trelawney took a deep, dramatic breath and touched her bug-eyed glasses as though focusing. She peered into the crystal and hummed in a gravelly tone, waving her hand intricately over the ball. Everyone in the room, including Draco, held their breath.

"I do not see the death of Harry Potter," she intoned. "I see a great nothingness, suspended in oblivion. I sense confusion, fear, desperation, pain, but not death."

"That's worse!" Seamus cried.

"Headmistress," the Head Girl, some no-name from Ravenclaw, appeared in the classroom doorway. She cradled an awkwardly shaped object in her arms, a carved wooden block with a round glass dial in the center.

"Bring it here,” Professor McGonagall waved her over and carefully removed it from her grip.

Weasley glanced over as the Head Girl slipped past Draco and noticed him standing near the doorway. He scowled and sidled along the wall until he was within whispering distance. “What are you doing here, ferret face?” he hissed.

“I heard someone blasted Potter into the great beyond,” Draco shot back, giving Weasley his best arched brow.

“So you came to celebrate?” the pain on Weasley’s face was apparent.

“Is that my only option?” Draco sneered. “I have as much right to be here as anyone.”

“Quiet please,” Professor McGonagall set the wooden block on the floor next to Potter’s shoes. “Albus never showed me how this worked, so it may take some trial and error.”

The dial had two elegantly inscribed markings, one to the left that read Dead and one to the right that read Alive. There were no markings between, and nothing apparent to indicate which was selected. Professor Flitwick crouched near the device and nudged it closer to the shoes.

“Perhaps it requires a name,” he said thoughtfully. “Harry Potter,” he spoke in a loud, clear voice. A needle rose slowly from within the wooden frame and hovered halfway between the two demarcations. “Well it’s something,” Professor Flitwick frowned. “But what, I’m not sure.”

“Try someone else,” Professor Slughorn suggested. “Severus Snape,” he called.

The needle dropped directly to the left mark with the word Dead scrawled above it. The group murmured quietly. “Minerva McGonagall,” Professor Slughorn tried again. The needle swung to the right, to the mark with the word Alive scrawled above it. “Seems to be working now,” he said musingly. “Harry Potter,” he called. The needle swung back to the left, eliciting a gasp from the crowd, but then stopped halfway between the two indicators again.

“Curious,” Professor Flitwick grunted.

“I told you I sensed no death,” Professor Trelawney said sharply. “He is not dead.”

“Yes, but it would also appear that he is not exactly alive, either,” Professor McGonagall frowned, concern etched in the lines of her face.

“So what does that mean?” Weasley asked impatiently. “Where is he?”

“Let’s try something,” Professor Flitwick held up his hand for quiet. “Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.” The needle swung to the Dead mark. “Well he’s not a ghost,” the diminutive professor harrumphed.

“I sense dark magic,” Professor Trelawney said gravely.

“It was supposed to be a protection charm,” Granger spoke up. “How could it turn into dark magic?”

“The sneeze, I suppose,” Professor Flitwick stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It changed the pronunciation of the charm, which changed the nature of the spell.”

“Who heard the spell clearly?” Professor McGonagall looked around the room. “We can review it with the Pensieve and try to determine the pronunciation. Seamus, Filius, come with me.” She swept out of the room in a swirl of emerald green velvet robes. Luna helped Seamus to his feet and guided him out, followed by the full brigade of Hogwart’s staff. Granger and Weasley remained behind. Granger slipped her arms around Weasley’s waist and sniffled into his shirt as he stroked her hair soothingly. Uncomfortable with the vulnerable display, Draco turned to leave.

“That’s right. Get out of here, Malfoy,” Weasley called. “Go tell your friends in Slytherin house that they finally got what they wanted.”

Draco looked back over his shoulder and eyed the vacant shoes. “This is not what anyone wanted, Weasley,” he said regretfully, then departed.

Slytherin house was in high spirits when Draco arrived at the common room. The underclassmen, especially the first-years who had been sorted after the war, were reserved and conflicted. But the upperclassmen, especially the seventh-year repeats from Potter’s year, were celebrating the untimely demise of Hogwart’s own Golden Boy.

“I’ll bet he comes back as a ghost,” Pansy Parkinson said with a delighted shiver as Draco paused in the doorway.

“I’ll exorcise him if he does,” called Greg Goyle. He looked up and spotted his friend, “Hey Draco, did you find anything out? How did he die?”

“He’s not dead,” Draco said flatly, refusing to raise his voice to be heard over the clamor. In response to his tone one of the fifth-year boys silenced the music and everyone quieted down. “It was an accident in Charms class. Seamus Finnegan caught him with a spell and he disappeared.”

“But he’s not dead?” Millicent Bulstrode asked hesitantly.

“No,” Draco frowned. “But not alive either.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Goyle laughed crudely, swiping his finger across his neck and lolling his tongue out comically.

“Shut up, Greg,” Draco snapped. He looked around the room in disgust, suddenly ashamed of the house he’d so proudly defended throughout his tenure. “Do you all really think this is something to celebrate?”

“He’s right,” Blaise stood and joined Draco in the doorway. “This is an unsatisfactory end. He should have died in a duel, not at Finnegan’s incompetent hands.” He clapped his hand on Draco’s shoulder, “He was yours to defeat. If anyone was going to take him out, it should have been you.”

“Well,” Draco steadied his expression carefully. “Since he’s not actually dead, perhaps they’ll find him and I’ll still have my chance.”

An agreeable murmur spread through the room. The underclassmen, who weren’t steeped in the hatred for Saint Potter like the older students, seemed more comfortable with this interpretation. It meant it was okay to hope he was alive, if only so he could be challenged later.

Draco excused himself to his room, one of a few private spaces afforded to the seventh-year repeats who had returned following the war. He closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, his mind whirling. He wasn’t relieved to know that Potter wasn’t dead, he told himself. It was an interesting turn of events, but nothing that affected him personally. In fact, he thought, Potter’s disappearance meant they were temporarily guaranteed a break from his constant busy-bodied involvement in every bit of Hogwarts drama. It would be nice not to have to see his annoying face at meals and in the halls between classes. At some point he would be reunited with his shoes and everyone would go back to fawning disgustingly over him. But until then, it would be a blessed Potter-free existence, at least for a while.

Draco sat on the edge of his bed and repeated that thought to himself. It would be nice to be free of Potter’s presence. Wherever he was, he was annoying someone else for a change. And if no one found him for a while, so much the better. It would be a relief not to see him around school. He told himself that he should be happy. Then he put his face in his hands and wept.


	2. Chapter 2

Final exams came and went with no sign of the missing boy. The small wooden box with the life-death dial was mounted on the wall outside of the Charms classroom, with Potter’s shoes encased in a glass box beneath. The needle stayed resolutely fixed between the two indicators, but no one was sure what it meant.

News had gotten out to the press, and the Daily Prophet was all abuzz with headlines about his disappearance. It was no secret to the Wizarding world how instrumental Potter had been in the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and when a war hero of that calibre goes missing, it’s front page news. The part of Draco that still craved attention and approval noted bitterly that his own role in Voldemort’s defeat would never be known, and if he were to ever disappear it would hardly be a footnote.

The last supper service before winter break was boisterous in spite of the recent events. There was the usual relief from the stress of exams, the excitement over the season's first big snowfall, and of course the joy of Christmas ahead of them. The Great Hall was clamorous and energetic beneath a charmed ceiling that was filled with enormous dangling ornaments. The ghosts whizzed around cheerfully, or as cheerfully as they were able. The Bloody Baron loomed over the Slytherin table with an expression that was almost a smile of approval.

"Malfoy, think fast!" Goyle lobbed a candy apple at Draco's head. Draco ducked and the apple hurtled past him.

"If only you moved that fast on the Quidditch pitch," Blaise scoffed. Everyone laughed.

"If only Potter had disappeared at the beginning of the term, we might have beaten Gryffindor," Goyle added with a hyena cackle.

"Very funny," Draco sneered. The hall was too loud and his head was killing him. He hadn't had much appetite all week and the spread of decadently rich food before him did nothing to tempt his stomach.

He could hear the Ravenclaw table quizzing each other merrily over the recently completed exam material. The Hufflepuffs were joking and singing. The Gryffindors were having a more subdued, but determined good time, as though committed to enjoying themselves in spite of their loss.

It was all too much, too loud, overcompensating for the lingering awareness that something terrible had happened.

"Can anybody hear me?"

Draco looked up and checked down the table. "Beg pardon?" he asked Pansy.

"I didn't say anything," she looked up in surprise.

"Anybody, please, if anybody can hear me please say something!"

Draco looked behind him but couldn't be sure where the request was coming from. Well it wasn't at the Slytherin table, that was for sure. He listened but the question didn't repeat. He wondered if he had imagined it.

At the end of the feast the students returned to their houses to finish packing for winter break. Most of the students would be heading home for the holiday, with just a few electing to remain behind. Draco jostled with the rest of his housemates as they neared the door of the Great Hall, half an ear occupied by Blaise’s insipid prattling about the expensive presents he anticipated from his mother this year.

“Can anyone hear me?”

Draco turned and eyed the fourth-year student who was trying to squeeze past his elbow. The boy only came up to his bicep, but the voice had been right next to his ear. He checked behind him but he saw only second-year girls. He frowned. Was he hearing things? Maybe he was just tense and projecting sounds where there were none. He cocked his head and listened but it didn’t happen again.

He excused himself and ducked down a side corridor in search of the loo. He needed a break from the clamor, from the voices pounding at his ears. He stopped into the boy’s washroom, relieved himself, and checked his reflection. As he exited he spotted Weasley and Granger coming slowly up the hallway. He ducked his head and paused for a drink at the fountain as they passed.

“How can we leave for holiday without him?” Granger said tearfully.

“What else can we do?” Weasley said gently. “We’ll go by the Charms room one more time so you can see the needle hasn’t moved, but then we have to go.”

Draco stood and watched them as they walked away. Weasley was bracing Granger as though she were fragile. The pain of their loss radiated from them, nearly tangible in its intensity. Suddenly he heard a morose sigh behind him and he spun around, embarrassed that he’d been caught watching the Gryffindor duo.

The corridor behind him was empty, dim and shadowed. He poked his finger into his ear and wiggled it, wondering if he was hearing things due to a wax buildup. Feeling a bit disconcerted he turned on his heel and headed for Slytherin house.

As he descended the steps to the dungeon he caught a flit of gray and white out of the corner of his eye. The Bloody Baron was patrolling the hall, his expression haughty and displeased as he rattled his chains. Draco bowed respectfully and the Baron bowed in return.

“Pardon me, Baron,” Draco had learned long ago to address Slytherin’s ghost with care, “but would you know anything about the disappearance of Harry Potter?”

“All of the ghosts know about the disappearance of Harry Potter,” the Baron replied with a snooty tone.

“You do?” Draco’s heart leapt hopefully. “Have you seen him?”

“Of course not,” the Baron replied. “Everyone knows he has disappeared.”

“Oh,” Draco realized now what he had meant. “Of course.” He chided himself for getting his hopes up, and more so for feeling any emotion about it at all. He turned to enter Slytherin house. “Have you heard any voices?” Draco asked suddenly.

“Such as?” the Baron rattled his chains impatiently. Draco knew he was due for his nightly moaning session in the Astronomy tower.

“I don’t know, never mind,” Draco shook his head and bid the ghost goodnight.

He entered the Slytherin common room and dropped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. Miles Bletchley flopped down next to him and heaved a laborious sigh.

“Ready for Christmas, Malfoy?” he asked.

“I suppose,” Draco stared into the flickering firelight and thought about what Christmas would be like this year.

“Your folks are both in Azkaban, right?” Miles asked. “Who are you spending the holiday with?”

“No one,” Draco rubbed his temple and tried to look bored.

“That’s no fun,” Miles frowned. “Are you at least going to Zabini’s mum’s Christmas Eve party this year?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “I’m not sure I feel like doing much of anything.”

“I understand,” Miles nodded. “It’s been a tough year, hasn’t it? I suppose you’re probably just happy to be celebrating anything at all, rather than dead or in Azkaban yourself.”

“Good point,” Draco sighed.

“If it helps, most of us are envious," Miles said. "You fought the good fight for purebloods everywhere, then got off scot-free. You're a king among Slytherins."

"Thank you, Miles," Draco muttered.

Miles finally got the hint and left him to brood. Draco glared at the fireplace and tried not to dwell on his words. In his younger years he would have relished Miles' praise, and would have basked in the warm glow of his housemates' adoration. He would have been proud of his accomplishments if he'd done as Miles had said. It was something of an irony that he hadn’t actually done any of that, would no longer find pride in it if he had, but was unable to deny it and tell what had really happened.

He touched his forearm, thinking of the mark hidden beneath the sleeve of his black blazer. He remembered Severus Snape and an unbreakable vow.

In the morning the school emptied out with a subdued resignation. The previous night’s supper had been appropriately cheerful, if a bit forced. But underneath it all the student body was tense, concerned that Harry Potter hadn’t been located yet. The most common farewell among the departing students was, “See you in January, when Harry is back!” But Draco was pessimistic. It seemed as though he would have been found already, if he were able to be found. In his experience, resolution either came quickly or not at all. Every day that passed without a clue to Potter’s whereabouts made him less and less likely to be found.

Draco lounged in the Slytherin common room and waved a casual goodbye to his departing housemates as they filed out. He had decided overnight to stay on at Hogwarts rather than head home for the holiday. Malfoy Manor was in ruins, his parents were in Azkaban, and the luxury flat he’d purchased in London was too new to feel like home. And who knew? Maybe he would stumble across a clue to Potter’s whereabouts. Not that he cared that much, he thought.

After lunch he stopped by Professor McGonagall’s office in the hopes of catching her before she left. She had only recently moved her effects up to Dumbledore’s old Headmaster suite, preferring to remain in the Deputy Headmaster office instead. But now that his many artifacts were being searched for usefulness in the Potter-search, she’d finally made the transition. He knocked gingerly on the door and peered into the cluttered space, wondering if she was in.

“Minerva?” he called.

“Over here!” Professor McGonagall’s head popped up from between two very large crates. “Draco, come help me move this.”

Draco crossed the room and crouched to lift the edge of a large wooden slab. It was carved in heavy relief with what looked like pictograms all over it. “What is this?” he grunted as they slowly moved it into the middle of the room. They set it down and Professor McGonagall knelt beside it with interest.

“It’s a relic of Atlantis,” she said thoughtfully as she ran her fingers across the surface. “They had advanced knowledge of long-distance transportation. I thought it might give us a clue to Mister Potter’s whereabouts.”

“Still searching?” Draco asked the obvious.

“Still searching,” she stood and braced her back stiffly. “Did you need something, my boy?”

“I just wanted to see how it was coming,” Draco tried to look only casually interested.

“Nothing yet,” she sighed and straightened her peaked hat. “I feel guilty leaving for the holidays, but Sybill and I thought it would be helpful to visit some of our colleagues who could lend their expertise to the problem.”

“Minerva,” he hesitated. She wagged her finger at him tolerantly. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall. I heard Professor Trelawney say she felt dark magic at work. My father had an extensive collection of dark magic writings. I could donate them to the cause if you think they would help.”

“That’s very generous of you, Draco,” Professor McGonagall smiled. “But a donation like that may not go unnoticed.” Her brow furrowed, “If you’re still concerned about the remaining uncaptured Death Eaters, you might consider whether it would be wise to move them directly.”

"I can make the transfer secretly," he said. "It doesn't need to be a public announcement. It’s the least I can do."

"Then I appreciate the offer," Professor McGonagall's eyes moistened. "And if he were here I'm sure Harry would thank you, too."

"I'm not offering for his sake," Draco scowled. "It's academic, purely. It's the sort of help Severus would have offered. I'm doing it for him, not for Potter."

"Severus would be proud," she smiled gently.

"I'll make arrangements to transport my father's collection over winter break. I'll bring them in quietly and if anyone asks you can say they were found in Professor Snape's collection." He grimaced, "It won't be the first time he's covered for me."

"Happy Christmas, Draco," Professor McGonagall squeezed his shoulder.

“Happy Christmas, Minerva.”

Draco returned to the dungeon and started working out a plan to carefully move his father’s collection of Dark Arts books to the school without drawing attention to himself. To McGonagall’s point, he was in a delicate place with regards to his reputation. As far as the remaining members of Voldemort’s followers were concerned, he was the son of one of the most infamous Death Eaters, whose youth and inexperience had kept him out of harm’s way and won him an acquittal during the war trials. And as long as there were wanted Death Eaters at large, he would have to protect that reputation. He would have difficulty explaining how his father’s belongings had ended up in the hands of Hogwarts officials if the public story was to be believed. Not even his own servants knew the truth. Severus had drilled the notion of secrecy into him before he took his own secrets to the grave.

He penned a careful note to his housekeeper, asking for his father’s books to be crated and shipped in his name to Borgin and Burkes for holding. He then wrote a quick note to Borgin and Burkes explaining what he would like them to do when the crate arrived. He sat back and reread the two notes, making sure they sounded sufficiently sneaky to cover up the altruistic nature of his activity. He wondered again at the irony of the life he now led.

He headed upstairs to send the notes off and found himself cutting through the corridor that passed by the Charms classroom. He wasn’t sure why he was going this way, it wasn’t exactly a shortcut. But in spite of himself he stopped before the case that contained the life-death meter and Potter’s shoes. The shoes were nothing special, inexpensive trainers with black fabric tops and rubber soles. But the sight of them, empty and abandoned, struck Draco with a sorrow he couldn’t explain.

He lifted the hinged glass front and reached a finger through the gap so he could touch the sole. Why were his shoes left behind when the rest of him had disappeared? And did that mean he was shoeless in whatever place he’d been sent to? He checked up and down the deserted corridor to make sure he was alone, then lifted the glass panel all the way up and took one of the shoes out completely.

He held it gently in his hands and looked at the weathered insole. He could see the worn indentation where Potter had stepped down repeatedly over weeks and months of wear. The cushioning was permanently compressed where he bore the most weight. Draco could see that he had high arches and that he stood mostly on the ball of his foot. It dawned on him that whether Potter was ever found or not, the wear pattern on the inside of this shoe was a unique signature that he left to this world. The footprints in these shoes were definitive proof of his physical existence. The weight of his body had pressed down and signatured these shoes.

A drop of water fell onto his thumbnail and he glanced up to see if the ceiling was leaking. Belatedly he realized it had come from him. Startled, he swiped his sleeve across his cheek. What an absurd thing to do, he thought. Crying over shoes. He looked up at the life-death meter and grimaced. It was still hovering resolutely halfway between the two marks.

Suddenly a warm sensation crept over his hands as they clutched the shoe. He looked down in surprise, then looked around to determine what could be the source of the heat. It wasn’t just a little bit warm, it was distinctly warmer. Just his hands, and just this moment. He thought maybe the warmth was coming from the shoe itself, but it was the outside of his hands that were heated, not the trainer between his palms.

He looked up again and his breath caught in his throat. Did he imagine it or did the needle just wobble? He couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn it had moved, just slightly, and most importantly towards the Alive side of the scale.

The warmth receded from his hands as quickly as it had come, and the needle bobbed back to center. No matter how hard he stared it didn’t wiggle again. He moved the shoe around, towards the meter, further away, but it sat as it did before, halfway between life and death. Nothing he did made it budge. He pursed his lips in frustration and jammed the shoe back into the case. He stared for a moment longer but nothing changed. He finally shrugged and turned to leave.

_*Sigh*_

Draco stopped in his tracks. He knew that sound. That was the same breath he had heard in the corridor upstairs when Weasley and Granger had passed by. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he peeked over his shoulder. The hallway was empty. He suddenly became aware of just how deserted Hogwarts was and goosebumps prickled up his arms. He turned and ran for the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

The problem with spending winter break at Hogwarts was that there wasn’t much to do to pass the time. He was the only Slytherin to stay on this year, and from what he’d observed in the Great Hall at meals, one of only a handful of students in the entire school who had chosen not to leave. The relatively few staff members who had stayed did their best to keep an eye on them, and the ghosts tried to liven up the meals so they wouldn’t feel lonely.

Draco didn’t feel lonely. He was bored. And tense. And sad in an inexplicable way. He didn’t miss his parents, or Christmas for that matter. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa had been warm and comforting the way most people’s parents were. He did miss the bygone Christmases of his youth, before his father had been overtaken by sycophantic devotion to the Dark Lord, when they were able to enjoy the spoils of wealth without the fear of death or prosecution or both.

He didn’t miss his friends, in fact they were hardly friends anymore. They were sycophants in their own right, and frankly he’d had enough of mindless devotion. He missed the feeling of locking horns with a well-matched opponent, the feeling of superiority after a spirited volley of insults. He wandered the halls to pass the time between meals, nostalgically playing over his most favorite memories of the past seven and a half years.

What bothered him was the number of those favorite memories that involved that bloody Gryffindor boy who he most definitely did not miss. Virtually every moment that he would rank at the top of his Hogwarts days involved that owl-eyed git and his two buggery friends. He comforted himself by focusing on the way those encounters had reinforced his superiority, and rationalized his preference of those memories for that reason alone.

He found himself standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the corridor to the Charms classroom. He couldn’t let himself go down there again. He still wasn’t sure whether he’d imagined the needle moving, but he couldn’t let himself stand there and stare at it again, waiting for something to happen.

He slowly became aware of a warmth along his right arm. It started at his elbow and spread down to the palm of his hand. He looked down but could see no reason for it. But there it was, unmistakable warmth, as though something were pressed up against him. He thought about the last time he’d felt a similar warmth on his hands and before he could think twice he was bolting for the Charms classroom.

He ran as fast as he could, only partially aware that the instant he had moved the warmth had disappeared. But he ran to the case containing the life-death meter anyway and skittered to a halt before it, breath suspended fearfully.

The hand pointed resolutely upward, halfway between Dead and Alive. He gave it a moment, waiting to see if it would wiggle. He held his hands out, wondering if the warmth would return, if the needle would move, but the air was cool and damp. The needle did not budge.

He turned and rammed his fist into the storage closet door, cursing himself for his optimism, cursing himself for giving a damn. He rubbed his face and took a shuddery breath, then peeked at the meter again. Nothing. Not a flicker of movement.

“Bollocks,” he muttered to himself. “Where are you, Potter?” He shook his head and silently admonished himself again for wondering. Feeling foolish, he returned to Slytherin house for the evening. He went to bed early and had fitful dreams.

_He was wandering the darkened corridors of the school, an elaborate maze with no ending and no beginning. He turned a corner and Potter was standing before him, shoeless and looking very scared._

_“Can you hear me?” Harry asked._

_“Of course I can hear you,” Draco was annoyed. “But where are you?”_

_“I’m right here,” Potter looked desperate. “I’ve been here the whole time.”_

_“Where is here?” Draco asked, looking around at the unfamiliar stone passageway._

_“No,” Harry stepped closer and took Draco’s hands in his. “I mean right here. I’m right here right now.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Draco shook his head. Harry’s fingers were warm, like real flesh and blood, like he was really there holding Draco’s hands._

_“I need to know that you can hear me,” Potter said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to be lost forever.”_

_“Then come back,” Draco said. “You don’t have to be lost. Everyone is looking for you. Just come back and we’ll find you.”_

_“But I’m already here,” Potter’s eyes welled up. He stepped up closer so that his mouth was right next to Draco’s ear, “Can you hear me, Malfoy? I’m right here.”_

Draco bolted straight up in bed and gasped for air. The whole left side of his body was warm, as though he was partially wrapped up in a blanket. He leaped out of bed and rubbed his arm, then hurried down the hall to the loo. He splashed water on his face and braced his hands on the edge of the sink as his heart pounded.

“Pull yourself together,” he told his reflection. “It was just a dream.”

He saw a flicker of movement in the mirror. Just beyond the bathroom door something moved in the hall. He could swear he saw a head of messy black hair and the glint of a pair of glasses. He whirled around and stared, but nothing was there.

“I’m going mad,” he told himself. “I’m cracking up.” He strode to the door and looked up and down the hall, then walked down to the common room to prove to himself that it was vacant. “You’re completely daft,” he said out loud to himself. “You’ve lived in a haunted castle for seven years, with real honest to goodness ghosts. And you’re going to start feeling haunted now?”

He took a deep breath and set his jaw. Enough nonsense. He turned and went back to his room, firmly latched the door behind him, and checked the covers to make sure there were no lingering warm spots. He slipped back into bed and put the silly business of dreams out of his mind.

He received a letter by owl the next morning at breakfast, sealed and marked in wax bearing the crest of Borgin and Burkes. The letter inside was blank except for an instruction to touch the wax seal to his lips. He did so, and the ink inside appeared like liquid scrawled across the page.

The note informed him that the shopkeepers had received his father’s books and were holding them as instructed. However, they had noticed the nature of the materials and wanted to extend a handsome offer to buy the collection from him. This was not what Draco wanted to hear. Although he had painstakingly developed a rapport with the shopkeepers, he knew the offer to buy the books was actually a notification that they would be keeping them with or without his consent. He could either take the offer and the money or lose the collection anyway. He smacked the letter down onto the table and cursed vehemently. He should have anticipated this. Now he would have to figure out how to double-cross their double-cross to get his father’s books back so he could deliver them to Hogwarts.

He headed upstairs to the library for a change of scenery and some introspection. The vanishing cabinet had been destroyed so he couldn’t use it to ambush the shop and take the books by force. He could offer a significant payment to buy the books back, but he doubted either Mr. Borgin or Mr. Burkes would be interested. The two old fools were in it for the rarity and the power of the collection, and parceling them out one by one would feed their desires more than any lump sum of money.

His Dark Mark would no longer carry any weight, now that the Dark Lord was gone. He had no leverage. In fact, quite the opposite. His father had done so much shady business there that they could potentially blackmail him if he tried to take the collection back.

Even if the books carried no secrets that would help unlock the mystery of Potter’s disappearance, he worried that they would be used to spread more darkness through the underbelly of the wizarding community. He hadn’t risked his life to defeat Voldemort’s Death Eater army just to arm them now with tools of destruction.

He walked the stacks, glancing at book titles, hoping something would pop out and give him ideas. He could disguise himself as a buyer, a non-Malfoy buyer. Better yet, he could use a Glamour charm to appear as several different buyers in order to allay any suspicions that he was reacquiring his own collection. But that was risky. He would have to spread out the purchases, and in the meantime anyone could come in and buy the collection out from under his nose.

If he had the power of divination he could scrounge up some dirt on the shopkeepers and counter any blackmail attempt they might make. He needed first-strike information that would both scare them into releasing his books and prevent them from retaliating with their own information. But he didn’t have the power of divination, so that option was out. He could craft a potion--

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts! Teach us something, please!”

Draco’s concentration was completely shattered. Someone was out in the corridor bellowing the school song at top volume. He marched to the library doors and threw them open, searching for the source.

“Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees!” Even worse, the singer was practically tone deaf.

“Would you please keep it down?” Draco shouted. “I can’t hear myself think!”

The singing stopped. Draco nodded with a harrumph and returned to the library, letting the door thump closed behind him.

“Can you hear me?” the voice called. “Hello? Who’s there? Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts! Hello?”

Draco yanked the library door open again and strode to the top of the stairwell. “I said shut it, you sodding wanker!” he shouted.

“You can hear me? Can you hear me?” the voice shouted back, closer this time.

“Yes, I can hear you, the whole bloody school can hear you!” Draco snapped.

“Malfoy! You can hear me? Tell me you can hear me!”

The strange thing was, the voice was close now. In fact, if Draco had been blindfolded, he would have guessed the voice was directly beneath him on the stairs. But there was no one there. He narrowed his eyes and looked around suspiciously.

“Don’t stop talking to me, Malfoy, please say you can hear me!”

Draco’s blood went cold. He knew that voice. His mouth moved before he could speak, and when he finally was able to utter words, they came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Potter? Is that you?”

“Yes! Yes, Malfoy! It’s me, it’s Harry Potter! Oh Merlin, you can hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Draco looked around. “But I can’t see you.”

“I’m right here,” the voice came directly from the right.

Draco flinched, startled by its sudden nearness. If he hadn’t known better, he would assume the speaker was merely an arm’s length away.

“I can’t see you,” he said again. He slowly raised his arm and swung it in an arc, across the region where he thought the voice should be coming from. He encountered a slight resistance, as though the air were thicker just off to his right. His arm warmed as it passed through the resistance. “Are you right there?” he asked.

“Yes, you just swung your arm through my chest,” Harry's voice was tinged with dismay.

“I must be going mad,” Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

“No, no,” Harry's voice cracked with desperation. “Don’t shut me out, don’t walk away. I swear I’m really here, Malfoy. Please don’t leave.”

“All right, shut up,” Draco kept his eyes closed to counter the disconcerting feeling of talking to himself. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Harry said, now moving around to Draco’s other side. “I’ve been trying to find someone who can hear me but you’re the only one who has answered.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco’s eyes flew open. “That was you at supper the night before winter break started.”

“You heard me?” Harry's voice cracked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know it was you, obviously,” Draco turned towards the voice but once again saw nothing. He swept his arm out again and met that same warm slight resistance.

“Stop doing that,” the warmth moved away.

“What does it feel like?” Draco asked.

“It feels like a ghost putting his hand through my chest,” Harry said.

“I’m not a ghost, you are.”

“Not from my perspective. Everything is like a phantom to me,” Harry explained. “I feel solid. You feel like mist. Doors and objects feel like mist, too.”

“Well I assure you, you’re the one who is mist,” Draco insisted haughtily.

“I don’t care, I’ll be whatever you say I am, as long as you keep talking to me,” Harry sounded choked up.

“I’ll keep talking to you,” Draco said. “Potter,” he paused, too embarrassed to speak the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

“What?”

Draco shuffled his feet and gazed off down the corridor. “It’s just,” he paused again, “it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too.”


	4. Chapter 4

Draco and Harry retreated to the library so Draco wouldn't feel like a madman talking to nothing in the stairwell. He entered and forgot to hold the door open for his invisible classmate, only belatedly realizing his error when Harry grunted.

"Are you okay?" he jerked the heavy door open again.

"I'm fine," Harry sounded chagrined. "Doors pass through me like everything else. It's just disturbing when it happens."

"It's the other way around, Potter," Draco reminded him. "You're passing through doors."

"Either way."

"What does it feel like?" Draco wondered.

"Like when Peeves rushes you in the hall," Harry said. "Like a ghost has passed through you."

"Have you tried talking to any of the ghosts?" Draco asked suddenly. He was standing in the middle of the library, his eyes fixed on a frayed section of rug to to ease the discomfort of having no one to look at.

"I haven't seen any," Harry said. "I would if I could find one but I've mostly been looking for the living."

"Then let's find you a ghost," Draco carefully held the door open and then proceeded down the hall when he assumed Harry was beside him. They descended to the grand foyer and looked around. They checked the halls around Slytherin for the Bloody Baron with no luck.

At Harry's suggestion they tried Gryffindor Tower and climbed the moving stairs to the Fat Lady painting.

"Password?" she asked imperiously.

"Quaffle," Harry said clearly. The Fat Lady didn't budge. He repeated himself, louder this time, but she made no sign of being able to hear him.

"Quaffle," Draco said. The painting swung open and revealed the door to the Gryffindor common room.

"Go on," Harry said.

"I'm not supposed to," Draco said hesitantly, then felt foolish. He was still as intimidated as a first-year when it came to house etiquette.

"Supposed to what?" A bearded man in the neighboring painting asked.

"I wasn't talking to you," Draco muttered and walked into the common room.

There was no sign of Nearly Headless Nick anywhere. Draco passed through and headed up the stairs at Harry's instructions.

"Why would Nick be in your bedroom?" Malfoy asked.

"He wouldn't," Harry said just behind his left ear. "There's something in there that I need you to find for me."

"If this is all an elaborate trick to get me into your bed I'm going to be very put out," Draco said lightly.

"What? No!" Harry spluttered. Draco felt a sudden splash of warmth against his back.

"Did you just stumble?" Draco scoffed. "You have to be the only ghost in history who could trip on the stairs, Potter."

"I'm not a ghost," Harry muttered.

Suddenly one of the sleeping chamber doors flew open and a third-year girl dashed out with her wand at the ready. She looked up into his face and the blood drained from her cheeks.

"Draco Malfoy!" She gasped. She pointed her wand aggressively, "You're not supposed to be in here." Her hand trembled.

Draco pressed his finger against the tip of her wand and moved it to the side. "Don't point a weapon unless you're prepared to use it," he said coldly, looking down his nose at her. "Typical Gryffindor," he shook his head. "All bravado, no intellect."

"Go easy on her," Harry said at his elbow. He felt warmth wrap around the hand that was still holding her wand at bay.

"Why are you in here?" her voice shook but her determined expression didn't waver. "How did you get in?"

"I'm looking for Nearly Headless Nick," Draco released her wand.

"He's not here," she said sharply. "He's usually on the fifth floor this time of day."

"Thank you," Draco turned abruptly and continued up the stairs towards Harry's room.

"You can't go up there!" she called after him.

"I've been sent to search for clues to Harry Potter's disappearance, you daft bint," he snapped.

"Be nice, she's just trying to defend her house," Harry said chidingly.

"No she's not, she's a bossy little prat, just like Granger was at that age," Draco said.

"Who are you talking to?" the third-year girl was following him.

"Nobody. Now go away before I curse your tongue," Draco withdrew his wand and pointed it coolly.

"Don't," The warmth covered his wand hand again. Draco shook his arm sharply to dislodge it.

The girl's eyes widened and she darted back to her room. She slammed the door and rattled the latch to secure herself in. Draco stowed his wand and continued on his way, refusing to say another word to Harry until he found privacy.

Harry directed him to his room and gave him the password to enter.

"Ferret," Draco uttered with displeasure. "Really?" he hissed under his breath. He paused for a moment with the door ajar to give the invisible boy a chance to pass through. Then he closed and secured the latch.

Harry's room was a disaster. There was dirty laundry piled on the floor, clean laundry heaped in a basket, and the bed was unmade. The desk was a mess of parchments and empty ink pots that hadn’t been thrown away, as well as an assortment of random rubbish that had no business cluttering up a perfectly good workspace. Empty bottles of Butterbeer lined the windowsill like trophies. A selection of real trophies lay about on his bookcase, testifying to his Quidditch skills.

"You're right, you're not a ghost, Potter," Draco said with disgust. "You're a pig."

"Check the bottom drawer of my desk," Harry said, ignoring the insult. "You're looking for an old parchment that's folded in three."

Draco hunted through the drawer's jumbled contents and finally found it. "What is this?" he opened it and frowned.

"Marauder's map," a slight warmth near Draco's elbow told him Harry was very close. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"What?" Draco looked up in spite of himself. Of course there was no one to look at.

"It can't hear me," Harry sighed. "Say it."

"Say what? I solemnly swear that I am up to no good?"

Suddenly the markings on the map appeared, outlining the layout of Hogwarts and its few lonely winter break residents. Draco gawked inelegantly as he realized what he held in his hands.

"You cheeky little wanker," he breathed. "How long have you had this in your possession?"

"A long time," Harry said curtly. "Look, there's Nick on the fifth floor."

"It shows ghosts?" Draco marveled.

"It shows everyone, living or dead," Harry said.

Draco scanned the map and located Gryffindor house, then found Harry's room. A single dot sat motionless in the center with the name Malfoy next to it.

"There you are," Harry murmured. “But not me,”

"You're neither living nor dead," Draco said flatly.

Harry was silent. The warmth near Draco's elbow moved away and he was suddenly struck with the realization that he would have no way to find Harry in the room now. Or what if he left the room?

"Potter?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you still here?"

"I don't know," Harry's voice came from over near the window.

"Well of course you are," Draco said sharply. "Unless I've gone mad and you're the worst figment of imagination I've ever been cursed with, you're still here."

Harry laughed the kind of laugh that sounded close to tears. "Maybe you are mad," he said. "Maybe you missed me and your mind snapped and you conjured my voice."

"I have never for one moment of my life missed you, Potter. I can assure you of that," Draco snorted. "Let's go find Nick, maybe he can help get this sorted out."

They exited Harry's room and Draco secured the latch. He headed down the stairs with the Marauder's Map in hand, too enthralled by its secrets to notice the third-year girl waiting for him in the common room with her wand extended.

"Immobulus!" she cried, lashing out at Draco.

"Protego!" Harry shouted next to Draco's ear as he reflexively ducked. The charm flew harmlessly over his shoulder and he was back on his feet in an instant with his wand in hand. He shot the girl a withering look, then dropped her with a simple Stupefy.

"Potter, do you have your wand?" Draco asked, eyeing the prone girl with annoyance.

"Yes, but it doesn't work," Harry said with chagrin. "Force of habit, I suppose."

"We have a slight problem here," Draco said. "My reputation precedes me. No one is going to believe I'm working on your behalf."

"And if no one else can hear me, you’ll look like you're mad," Harry added.

"Yes, Potter, I realize that."

"Is there no one who you've built trust with who would believe you?" Harry sounded anxious.

"Several people, but who would believe them?" Draco asked.

"Slytherins stick together," Harry muttered.

"There's Slughorn," Draco thought through the short list of staff who had stayed on. "But he's skeptical regardless of whether he likes me. How would I prove it to him?"

"He doesn't like me anyway," Harry added. "He might not care to make the leap of faith."

"We might have to wait for Minerva and Professor Trelawney's return," Draco said, crouching by the stunned girl. "Obliviate," he said softly. He carefully extracted the memory of his visit to Gryffindor, then retreated to the door and pushed the painting open so Harry could pass.

"You're not going to leave her like that, are you?" Harry asked as he stepped through.

"Shut up, Potter," Draco muttered. He stepped out and closed the door most of the way so just his arm and wand poked through the crack. "Ennervate," he cast, then slipped free and quietly closed the door.

"You seem a little too experienced with that sort of thing," Harry said disapprovingly.

"The war made experts of us all," Draco stowed his wand and set off for the fifth floor.

Harry said nothing, so Draco continued and assumed he was following behind. Surely he wanted help more than he wanted to be rid of his Death Eater enemy. If he only knew.

They found Nearly Headless Nick floating through the corridors on the fifth floor, exactly as the map had said. He was muttering and moaning and generally making the kind of racket people like Draco Malfoy frowned at disapprovingly. It seemed fitting that such a pointless cacophony of attention-seeking noise would come from a Gryffindor ghost, he told himself.

"Nick," he called loudly as the spirit wafted through a wall. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Where is he?" Harry asked off to his left.

"He just went through that wall there," Draco pointed. "We'll catch him when he returns."

The gray and white ghost emerged again and paused mid-moan to regard him curiously. "Mister Malfoy," he tipped his head politely. Then he picked up his moan where he left off and drifted to the other side of the corridor.

"Wait!" Draco lunged with his hand outstretched. "I need to talk to you."

"Where did he go?" Harry asked.

"What in blazes do you mean? He's right there," Draco pointed.

"Are you speaking to me?" Nick descended gracefully and looked around.

"So I guess that answers it, you don't see Harry Potter standing next to me, do you?" he waved his arm and caught the warm, gentle resistance that marked Harry's location.

"You've found Harry?" Nick's expression lit up.

"Sort of," Draco shrugged.

"Who are you talking to?" Harry asked.

"Nick, he's right in front of you," Draco pointed, this time accidentally waving his hand through the cool, clammy mist of the ghost. "Are you facing the right way? Over here."

"There's no one there," Harry said flatly.

"Are you talking to me?" Nick was confused.

"Can you at least hear his voice?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry and Nick said at the same time.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Draco rubbed his eyes. "Forget it," he turned and beckoned for Harry to follow. The ghost returned to his moaning and drifting as though uninterrupted.

"So apparently I can't see or hear ghosts," Harry said as they descended to the ground floor.

"Apparently not," Draco said dryly.

"Where are we going now?" Harry asked.

"Well," Draco paused. "I was heading back towards Slytherin house, actually. I've got sort of a problem I'm trying to solve right now."

"Oh," Harry said softly. "Thats okay. If you need some time alone I understand," his voice drifted down the hall.

"Wait," Draco called. "You can walk through walls, right? Can you get into Slytherin house?"

"Yes," Harry's voice was still distant.

"Come find me after supper," Draco said, his voice rough. He didn't want to sound too friendly.

"Okay," Harry's voice was a little brighter. "See you then."

"Wish I could say the same," Draco quipped.

Harry's laugh echoed down the corridor as he drifted away.

Draco returned to his room and sat at his desk. He wasn't sure what to make of the day's events. He had found Harry Potter, but he was no closer to understanding the nature of his disappearance. And the fact that he couldn't hear or see the ghosts made it even stranger. He removed the Marauder's Map from his vest pocket and inspected it closely. He could see every student, every staff member, even himself in his private room. But there was no mark indicating Harry's existence.

He thought about what Harry had said earlier. What if he had gone mad? In his distress had he imagined the voice of his greatest rival? He paused to correct himself. He wasn't distressed. He didn't care. It was an academic interest, that was all.

But academically speaking, there was no way to know whether his encounter with Harry was real. Then again, the fact that he had the Marauder's Map in his possession seemed like definitive proof. After all, how would he have gotten to it without Harry's help?

He stuffed the map back into his vest pocket and decided there was nothing to be done but wait until after supper. If Harry came back, he would worry about disproving his madness then.

Meanwhile there was the matter of his father's book collection. He needed to craft a response to Borgin and Burkes before they started selling the lot. He decided the best way to deal with it would be to take the direct approach.

He wrote a quick note asking what they expected in exchange for his collection. He noted that his family had been a supporter of their business for years and offered whatever ongoing support they wished for. He asked them to name their price. The way he saw it, it would force their hand. They would either have to make an offer or release his property. No use scheming until he knew for sure which way they would go.

Besides, he had time to stall them with negotiations. As much as he wanted to help with the academic mystery of Potter's disappearance, he would need the assistance of minds like Minerva McGonagall and even that sodding git Granger to search his father's materials for answers.

He folded up his note and went upstairs to the grand foyer. He wrapped his green and silver scarf around his neck and strolled out into the snow-covered courtyard. He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly, then waited for the sound of feathers flapping. A shadow flickered in front of the sun and the tawny wings of an owl beat across the sky. He braced himself as the school’s general delivery owl landed gracefully on his forearm.

"Who's a good girl?" He cooed gently as he tied the note to her leg. The owl butted her head against Draco's cheek and cooed back. He withdrew a treat from his pocket and offered it to her, deftly releasing it before her sharp beak could accidentally catch his finger.

He stroked her feathers while she gobbled down her treat and then raised his arm to launch her into the air. He watched her retreat until she was just a speck in the sky. He thought sadly of his family’s eagle-owl, yet another casualty of the war.

"I know you're there, Potter," he said, squinting after the receding bird.

"How did you know?" the voice came from his right.

"My arm is warm," Draco said. "Are you leaning on me?"

The warmth moved away. "Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "It's hard being alone. I guess I just need human contact." He paused, and his voice sounded pained when he continued, "I'm scared its going to be like this forever. That I'll never touch anyone or be touched again."

"It's okay," Draco said gruffly, a lump forming in his throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Draco averted his eyes, pretending to shield them from the dim winter sun as he tried to track the distant owl. "You can lean on me if you want to," he said, his voice tighter than he thought it should be.

The warmth returned and after a moment it extended down his wrist and across his palm. He reflexively curled his fingers around nothing, but felt the soft resistance and heat that proved the other boy was there. He told himself it was academic, that providing comfort for Potter was a good idea until classes reconvened in January. It was fundamentally right, if not personal.

"What was that you sent?" Harry asked.

"A letter to Borgin and Burkes," Draco replied. "They have something of mine and I want it back."

The warmth receded and Harry's voice moved away. "You're doing business with them again?" he asked warily.

"Nothing illegal, Potter," Draco sighed. "Just some books." Harry said nothing in response. "I'll see you after supper," Draco said and returned to the castle. He felt a sharp pang as he realized his poor choice of words.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco gazed around the Great Hall and wondered who he could talk to about his connection with Harry. He was surrounded mostly by underclassmen who couldn't help, and the head table wasn't promising. Horace Slughorn was his best bet, but wasn't a guaranteed ally. Madam Pince was useless to him. Professor Sprout was equally useless, and besides, she wasn't terribly fond of him. Hagrid might believe him, just based on his weakness for Potter and his silly friends, but his willingness to believe might not carry much weight with his colleagues. Besides, from a personal history perspective, he might be the worst choice of all.

He wondered what it would be like to wander these familiar halls, to speak to friends and acquaintances, but never be seen nor heard. It sounded like torture. He couldn't imagine what that first week must have been like for Harry.

A warmth spread across his left arm. Draco looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, then pushed his elbow against the faint resistance.

"Do you need to eat?" he murmured under his breath.

"No, I don't seem to get hungry or thirsty," Harry whispered.

"Why are you talking quietly, you wanker?" Draco ducked his head and tried to hide his smirk with his hand. "No one can hear you but me."

"I don't know. You're right, it's silly," the warmth vanished and Harry's voice moved upward, as though he had climbed up onto the table. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hoggy Warty Hogwarts!"

"Stop!" Draco clapped his hands over his ears and flinched. The other diners looked up in unison and stared at him curiously. "Sorry," Draco looked around and waved his hand at his throat. "Choking. Fine now."

"Boo," Harry's voice was suddenly directly in front of Draco's nose. Draco jerked back in his seat and covered the movement with a phony coughing fit.

The staff craned their necks and watched him warily as he waved off assistance from the students at the neighboring table. He decided to cut his losses and walked stiffly from the Great Hall with his head held high. As soon as he was out of earshot he whirled around and pointed at the empty air behind him.

"That is not funny!" he said sternly. "I can't help you if I end up locked up in St. Mungos for delusional behavior."

There was no answer.

"Oh suddenly you're not there?" he asked snidely. "You've been following me around all bloody day but I'm to believe suddenly you're not interested in human contact anymore?"

Still no answer. Draco turned and looked behind him, in spite of the futility of the effort. Where was he? Had he left? Had something happened to him? They still didn't know the nature of his disappearance, what if there were hazards they hadn't yet discovered?

"Potter?" he called softly. "Are you there?"

He felt warmth on his shoulder and could almost imagine Harry's remorseful gesture. He reached over and placed his hand on the warm spot, strangely aware that their bodies were overlapping. He hadn't meant to lash out. He couldn't imagine how hard things must be for the other boy right now. But at least he knew he was still there. Academically speaking, it was good to have confirmation.

"Come on, then," he said briskly, then led the way down to Slytherin house.

Fortunately he had the whole house to himself. He sat on the sofa near the fireplace and kicked his shoes off, then laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"Can you sit?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry's voice said from the other end of the sofa. "I can walk through things, but the floor is solid, and if I sit the chair is solid. And if I lie down the bed is solid."

"That's strange," Draco frowned.

"You keep closing your eyes to talk to me," Harry observed.

"It makes me feel less like a nutter," Draco replied. "Like maybe you're in the room and I'm not talking to empty space."

"I'm not empty space," Harry said firmly.

"You should try seeing it from my side," Draco said.

"I'm not," Harry insisted. Suddenly Draco felt warmth and the slightest pressure on the side of his face. "You can feel this, can't you?" his voice was close now.

Draco kept his eyes closed and imagined Potter was really there, heat radiating from his palm just a few centimeters above his cheek. His breath caught in his throat. He coughed delicately and opened his eyes to nothing. "Yes, I can feel that," he said flatly, staring at the floor.

"I wish you could see me," Harry's voice was rough.

"If I could, that would solve all of your problems," Draco pointed out. "And I would be asking you what the hell you're doing in Slytherin House, you Gryffindor wanker," he smiled and raised his eyes in the general direction of Harry's voice. When Harry didn't answer his smile faltered. "Where did you go?"

"Don't move," Harry said. "I'm trying to make eye contact with you."

"Well now you're just being weird," Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"You're right, sorry."

"So what shall we do with our evening, Sir Ghost of Saint Potter?" Draco asked. He frowned, "I mean, assuming you intend to hang around and haunt me further." He chided himself for speaking so familiarly with his rival.

"I don't know," Harry's voice mused. "We could play chess. I could tell you where to move my pieces."

"That sounds like the perfect way to confirm my descent into madness," Draco said bluntly. "Shall I wear a paper captain's hat on my head while I do so? I can talk to the voices in my head and play chess with myself until they pack me off to the loony bin."

"Do you really think I'm a voice in your head?" Harry sounded worried.

"There's a distinct possibility that you are, Potter." Draco laughed bitterly. "What makes more sense, that you've become magically invisible with a total inability to be perceived by anyone other than me, living or dead, as confirmed by your sneaky bloody map? Which I'm considering keeping for myself, mind you," he patted the vest pocket that contained the Marauder's Map. "Or that you actually died and I was so distraught over losing the chance to defeat you in battle that my mind cracked? Which seems more likely?"

"I'm really here, Malfoy," Harry said sadly.

Draco immediately felt guilty about voicing his worry. "I know you are. So, chess, that sounds like fun."

He moved over to the small game table between the bookcases along the far wall. He scooted the opposing chair out a bit so Harry could sit, then set up the game pieces.

"I'm rubbish at chess," he muttered, "so who knows how fun this will be."

"You're white so you go first," Harry said across from him.

Draco frowned. "That doesn't seem right," he said. "We should turn it around so I can be black."

"Just make your first move, Death Eater," Harry said with a smirk in his voice.

Without thinking about it much, Draco moved a pawn. "No funny technical speak, Potter. Keep it simple."

"Third pawn from the left, forward. No, my left."

Draco reached over and grasped the chess piece and immediately his fingers were suffused with warmth. "Are you pretending to move it yourself?"

"Yes."

"You're daft."

Draco lost quickly and then reset for a second match. This time Harry offered advice and told him where to move his pieces. He still lost.

"I truly am mad," Draco sat back and stared at his fallen king. "I'm playing chess with a figment of my imagination, which means I'm delusional and playing both sides, but somehow one side is actually good, even though I'm really terrible at it!"

"That seems like an argument for my existence," Harry said. "Either that or you're madder than you think and they ought to throw you into Azkaban with the others."

"Hilarious," Draco grimaced. Potter's words "the others" echoed in his mind. It showed how closely he associated Draco with the Death Eaters. They didn't even warrant a proper noun for clarity.

"Want to play something else?" Harry asked.

"Why not, it's early," Draco said as though he didn't care.

"How about Truth or Dare?"

"What’s Truth or Dare?"

"It's a game I learned from my cousin," Harry explained as his voice moved back across the room to the sofa. Draco followed him and sat, hoping he was on the unoccupied end. "You choose truth or dare, and you have to do whatever the other person says,"

"What happens if you don't?" Draco asked, propping his feet up.

"Nothing," Harry said. "It's a game of trust,"

"Two problems with this idea, Potter," Draco held up a pair of fingers. "First of all, you can't do a dare because you can't do anything. Second of all, you don't trust me."

"So truth or dare for you, truth for me," Harry corrected. "And I don't have any choice but to trust you."

"All right," Draco sighed laboriously. "If this is your idea of fun."

"You have to promise to tell the truth," Harry emphasized.

"I solemnly swear," Draco intoned sarcastically. "For whatever good the word of a Slytherin is."

"Truth or dare?" Harry asked.

"Truth," Draco waved his hand dismissively.

"So why aren't you in Azkaban with the others?"

"You realize you could have asked me that over there instead of coming up with this silly game idea," Draco pointed to the chess set.

"So answer."

"Because I was acquitted," he said shortly. "Your turn."

"That's not an answer."

"Because I," Draco thought hard. He couldn't actually share the truth. But he had promised not to lie. "I was found to be," he paused again.

"Do you not know or are you not supposed to say?" Harry had picked up on his internal conflict.

"I can't say," finally, a truth he could share.

"Did you bribe someone in the Ministry?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Draco nodded in concession.

"Is that true?" Harry sounded dubious.

"No."

"Why can't you tell me?" Harry asked.

"Because there are still people out there who may want me dead if they find out," Draco said.

"Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

"Did you betray the Death Eaters?" Harry asked.

Draco stared resolutely into the fireplace.

"You can tell me," Harry wheedled. "I literally can't tell another soul."

"I can't," Draco said flatly. "I made a promise to Severus and Minerva."

Harry was quiet. Draco knew he had said too much. He shouldn't have mentioned the Hogwarts professors. He certainly shouldn't have called them by their first names. And he knew his answers had at least hinted at the truth. He should have guarded himself better, he thought. But there was a nagging part of him that needed someone, anyone, to know what he had done. Even Harry Potter. Maybe especially Harry Potter.

"My turn," Harry's voice was tentative.

"Truth or truth?" Draco asked.

"Truth," Harry chuckled.

"Have you been following me around?"

"Today?" Harry asked innocently.

"Since the accident," Draco clarified.

It was the other boy's turn to hesitate. "Not at first," he said.

"Were you near me in the corridor by the boys washroom the other day when Granger and Weasley walked by?"

"Yes," Harry's voice was quiet. "But I was following them, not you."

"We're you down by the Charms classroom when I was looking at your shoes?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "But I was there first."

Draco paused thoughtfully. “Really?” he asked.

“No,” Harry admitted. “I followed you.”

“Did you touch my hands?” Draco asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch my hand yesterday in the hallway above the Charms department?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Draco drummed his lips with his fingers, wondering whether to ask his next question. Keeping his eyes fixed on the fireplace, he asked, “Did you lie with me in my bed last night?”

Harry was quiet. Draco looked up reflexively even though he knew there was no one to look at. He pushed his hand across the back of the couch until he met warm resistance, just to be sure the other boy hadn’t left.

“Yes,” the response finally came.

“My turn,” Draco said.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” Harry’s voice was fragile.

“Oh come on. Truth,” Draco said.

Harry was quiet for several minutes. Draco sat patiently and waited for him to decide on a question. Finally he spoke in a defiant voice, “Did you betray the Death Eaters during the war?”

Draco sighed. “Yes. Please don’t ask me anything else about it.”

“My turn. Dare,” Harry said.

“We’ve already covered this,” Draco said. “There’s nothing you can do for a dare.”

“I know,” Harry said sadly.

“Are you dressed?” Draco asked. “Like, did you zap into invisibility with your clothes on?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Okay then strip naked and run through the Great Hall,” Draco said.

“What kind of dare is that? No one will see me.”

“But it will feel real to you,” Draco said. “I’ll just have to trust that you did it.”

“Okay,” Harry laughed. “Let’s go.”

They walked upstairs to the Great Hall and let themselves in. It was well past supper so there was no one around, but the candles brightened at Draco’s entry. He stood at the doors with his arms folded across his chest and smirked into empty space.

“Are you stripping down?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“All right, as soon as you’re naked I want you to run down to the Head Table and back, and I want you to shout the whole way,” Draco said. “Wave your arms, too.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Harry muttered.

“See? Feels real, doesn’t it?” Draco said.

“Here I go,” Harry’s voice danced away down the length of the room. “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts!” he shouted.

“Is that the only song you know?” Draco pressed his hands over his ears.

Harry turned and ran back towards Draco, singing the whole way. He was laughing and singing and heading straight towards him. At the last possible second Draco suddenly realized he had no intention of stopping. A splash of warmth spread down the length of his body, from his cheek to his knees.

“That was brilliant!” Harry said in his ear.

“Whoa,” Draco held his arms out awkwardly and looked down.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Either you’re hugging me or I just wet myself,” Draco said wryly.

“I’m hugging you,” Harry laughed softly. “Or rather, I’ve curved my arms around the smoke that looks like you.”

“Fair enough,” Draco said. “Even though we both know you’re still naked,” he added. He bent his arms and curled them shyly around the warm emptiness that was Harry. He knew what he looked like, how it would appear if someone were to arrive at that moment. He was standing in the Great Hall with his arms wrapped around empty air, his cheeks flushed with bashful awkwardness. But other than that, it was almost nice.

He cleared his throat and withdrew. He didn’t want nice, not with Harry Potter. Not with Harry bleeding bloody Potter.

“Hang on, let me get dressed,” Harry’s voice came from below. “Now what?” he asked.

“It’s getting late,” Draco checked his pocket watch. “I don’t suppose you sleep in your current condition.”

“No.”

“You’re welcome to come hang around Slytherin house,” Draco said carefully. “That way if you need anything you’ll be near someone who can hear you.” He told himself it made sense. If they were to bring Potter back, it would be best to keep him close at hand so they wouldn’t lose track of him again.

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

They returned to the dungeon and Draco excused himself to the loo to wash up and get ready for bed. He changed self-consciously, aware that Harry could secretly watch him and he would be none the wiser. He just had to trust that Harry wouldn’t. He went to his room and paused in the doorway.

“Where are you?” he called.

“Common room,” Harry called back.

“Do you want to stay there or come in here?” Draco asked. It made sense, he told himself. If Harry stayed in the common room and needed something, he might not hear him through the door.

“In here, I guess,” Harry’s voice was suddenly next to him.

Draco held the door open for a moment, then closed and latched it. He laid down in the bed and extinguished the light. He stared up at his bed canopy and tried not to think about the fact that Harry Potter was in his bedroom. His heart beat fast.

“Where are you?” he asked again.

“By the window,” Harry’s voice was soft.

Draco chewed his lip and thought about the words that hovered on his tongue. He should just close his eyes, he thought. It was time for sleep. Even from an academic perspective, nothing his mouth wanted to say made any rational sense. But his mouth opened anyway.

“Do you want to lie down?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry was quiet. A moment later the familiar warm whisper of resistance spread across Draco’s right side. And a moment after that the warmth spread across his shoulder, and extended across his abdomen. He closed his eyes and traced the heat map that overlaid his body. He could picture it in his mind, Harry laid up against him, his head on his shoulder, his arm stretched across Draco’s midsection. He raised his arm hesitantly and reached across until it passed into the warm spot. It was more through than around, but it was kind of like returning the gesture.

He didn’t want to argue with himself about what he was doing, whether he wanted to do it or whether it was a purely academic exercise. He could hear Harry’s breath in his ear, feel a warmth that was bloody well near body temperature, and he could imagine that the other boy was really there, really with him.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco fell asleep quickly, the exhaustion of the day’s excitement finally catching up with him. He dreamed vividly, lucidly, and he wasn’t alone.

_Draco was in an unfamiliar corridor again. He remembered it from the night before, and was startlingly aware that he was dreaming. He turned around to check behind him and Harry was there. His infamous lightning-shaped scar was brightly visible and he regarded Draco with silent curiosity._

_“Are you really here or is this part of the dream?” Draco asked._

_“I’m here,” Harry smiled warmly. He looked to be in perfect health. His hair was a mess and his round glasses were clean. He was wearing his school uniform beneath his standard black student robe. Draco looked down at his feet and noticed he was wearing white athletic socks._

_“Where are your shoes?” he asked._

_“They didn’t cross over with me,” Harry smiled ruefully._

_Draco’s heart squeezed. That smile. He was glad to see that smile. He tried to scowl to cover his reaction but Harry saw past his effort. He looked wonderingly at Draco and took a few shy steps forward._

_“I’m really here,” he said._

_“That doesn’t actually prove anything,” Draco said dubiously. “My dream could be telling me it’s real.”_

_“Do you usually dream about me?” Harry asked._

_“I have,” Draco said honestly, then suddenly wished he hadn’t answered. He felt vulnerable, less guarded, more sincere than he wanted to be._

_“Have you?” Harry stepped forward and smiled again, his eyes crinkling up at the corners._

_“How can I know this is really you and not my brain?” Draco asked._

_“How do I look? Better or worse than usual?” Harry joked._

_“You look like you,” Draco shifted uncomfortably._

_“Is that a good or bad thing?” Harry asked, taking another step forward._

_“Good,” Draco cursed himself belatedly for not deflecting. “I don’t like this hallway, can we leave?”_

_“It’s your dream,” Harry said. “I’m just tagging along.”_

_Draco turned to the wall and pressed his hand against it. “I want a door here,” he muttered. The stones pushed inward and swung to the side. Through the hole he could see the grounds of Hogwarts rolling away, a long, green, grassy hill leading down to the edge of the lake. “That worked nicely,” he said._

_“Can I come?” Harry asked._

_He was at Draco’s elbow, peering past the edge of the door frame to the warm sunlit landscape beyond. He smiled endearingly, an honest, open smile that made Draco’s heart squeeze. He could feel himself soften, and before he could think twice he touched Harry’s cheek. It was soft, with just the merest hint of stubble along his jaw. His skin was warm beneath Draco’s palm, present and real and not at all like a dream or a phantom. He closed his eyes and leaned into Draco’s touch, sighing contentedly._

_Draco wrapped his arms around the other boy and pulled him into an embrace. He could feel Harry’s heart beating against his, smell the warm soapy scent of his skin. He held him tightly and suddenly didn’t feel like going outside anymore. He wanted to stay right where he was._

He woke slowly, awareness returning in increments. He opened his eyes and gazed up at the canopy overhead and realized that he had been asleep. He vividly remembered his dream from the night before and played it over in his mind. The lingering sense of comfort and security slowly faded as sleep left him.

He realized there was no warmth next to him in the bed. He sat up, concerned that something had happened during the night. “Harry?” he called. “Are you there?”

There was no answer. A terrible thought occurred to Draco: what if the previous day’s encounter with the invisible Harry had been act one of an elaborate dreamscape? His heart beat painfully in his chest. If that were the case... he couldn’t bear to complete the thought.

All notions of purely academic interest in Harry’s disappearance were gone. He couldn’t doublethink himself out of the truth anymore. And the truth was that he had been watching Harry for years, wishing he could bridge the divide between them but knowing it was a futile idea. He had chided himself yesterday for considering whether Harry’s appearance was a hallucination, brought on by the distress of losing him so suddenly. Now, in the cool light of morning with no sign or sound of the other boy, it seemed like a distinct possibility.

“No,” he told himself firmly as he climbed out of bed. He refused to believe it had been a trick of the mind. He found his clothes from the previous day and shuffled through them until his hand found a stiff tri-fold of parchment. He held it up defiantly. The Marauder’s Map. It was proof that yesterday had happened, that Harry had guided Draco to his room to retrieve this artifact.

“Still nothing?”

Draco startled at the sound of Harry’s voice. “There you are,” he gasped.

“Sorry, I got bored waiting for sunrise,” Harry’s voice crossed the room to the bed.

“It’s okay,” Draco had to take a few breaths to control the overwhelming relief. It wouldn’t do to tear up or quaver when he spoke.

“Were you worried?” Harry asked.

“Of course not,” Draco lied. He placed the map on his desk and returned to the bed. He sat in a warm spot and jumped to his feet. “Sorry! Was that you?”

“You just sat in my lap,” Harry laughed.

"Sorry," Draco was inexplicably flustered, to his dismay. “I think I need a shower,” he tried to cover his awkward posturing by stretching and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. He knew Harry hadn't missed his nervousness.

“Can I come?” Harry asked teasingly.

“Don’t push your luck,” Draco said, then grabbed his shower caddy and headed down the hall.

He cranked the shower taps and climbed in with a sigh. He bathed at a relaxed pace, shampooed with lazy motions, and luxuriated in the relaxing hot spray. He wondered what they should try today to learn about the nature of Harry’s disappearance. He was more motivated than ever to return Harry to his physical body. He’d sensed a hint of what was possible in his dream last night, and needed to know how real it could be.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He crossed to the sink and rinsed his razor for a quick shave. He lathered in his mug and brushed the foam across his chin with an experienced stroke. He raised his razor to his face and drew it lightly across his skin, then deposited the foam in the sink. He glanced up into the mirror and caught Harry smirking at him from the doorway.

“What are you smiling at, you git?” he asked through pursed lips as he pulled his cheek taut. His hand froze. He stared at Harry in the reflection. He whirled around to the doorway but there was no one there. He spun back to the mirror and there he was again, his expression shocked.

“Can you see me?” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” Draco nodded breathlessly.

Harry ran to him and grasped his elbow. Draco could only feel the slight warm resistance, but there in the mirror was Harry Potter, messy black hair and round glasses and all, clutching his elbow and looking like he might cry.

“I see you!” Draco reached out and touched the cool glass. Behind his own reflection, the reflection of Harry reached out, too. He felt the familiar phantom warmth, but in the mirror Harry’s fingers touched the back of his hand.

“Merlin,” Harry gasped, then his face crumpled and he wept.


	7. Chapter 7

Overwhelmed by the morning's discovery, Harry chose to stay behind in Slytherin house while Draco grabbed a quick breakfast. As he sat at the long, deserted table an owl-delivery dropped into his lap. It was another parchment from Borgin and Burkes. He quickly touched the seal to his lips and tore it open.

_Dear Mister Malfoy:_

_We appreciate your pledge of ongoing support for our business. We are pleased to inform you that we have identified several potential buyers for the collection of antique books you delivered to our shop this month. We are prepared to offer top value minus a fair consignment fee in exchange for your abandoned property._

Draco dropped the letter without finishing and seethed silently. Abandoned property? This was robbery! He fought the urge to Apparate straight over and Confringo the shop to smithereens. He wasn't sure what to do now. He couldn't employ the help of the Hogwarts staff. Even if they were inclined to believe the benign nature of the request, he couldn't be seen conspiring with them. It was one thing to coexist, to live non-confrontationally among the blood traitors while he finished his education. But if word got out that he supported them or received their support, his loyalty both past and present would be called into question. And that's how vendettas were kicked off.

If it were just him he might worry less. But if the truth of his loyalty got out, it would put Headmistress McGonagall at risk, and perhaps all of Hogwarts once again. Death Eaters weren't known to make small gestures when enraged.

It would require thought. At the moment he had no ideas, but if he didn't come up with something soon his father's collection would disappear right out from under him. And if there was any chance that a clue to the curse that had blasted Harry into non-existence lay within those books, he couldn't risk losing a single one.

He was deep in thought on his way back to the dungeon, scowling and fuming to himself, when a whistle caught his attention. He turned but no one was there.

"Potter," he said harshly.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked tentatively off to his right. "I wasn't sure whether to interrupt you.”

"I'm fine. Where are you going?" with effort Draco composed his expression and smoothed over his scowl.

"I was bored," Harry said simply. "Just walking about."

Draco looked around and spotted a straight-backed chair leaning against the wall outside of a classroom. He transfigured it into a full length mirror and levitated to so it could be directed freely. He pivoted it to face the direction of Harry's voice, and as before he swung into view. A smile sneaked past his defenses and spread across his face as he felt his foul mood instantly melt away. 

Harry smiled back in relief. "I was worried it wouldn't work again," he said.

"If only I were so lucky," Draco rolled his eyes. "I think you got the better deal, frankly. I see one of you, but you get to enjoy two of me."

Harry laughed and blushed, for some reason too flustered to respond. Draco charmed the mirror so it would follow him wherever he walked, and then, to avoid being caught talking to his own reflection, they set off to find an unoccupied corner of the castle where they could decide what to do next. They sat on a broad windowsill in a second floor corridor and addressed each other through the glass.

"We have to call everyone back from break," Draco said firmly.

"It's Christmas Eve, we can't do that," Harry said firmly back. He looked at Draco’s reflection and grinned. Draco was unable to stop himself from grinning back. Every time Harry caught Draco making eye contact with him in the mirror he smiled, no matter what they were talking about. “I don’t want to ruin anyone’s holiday.”

“That’s absurd, you being lost is ruining everyone’s holiday,” Draco pointed out.

“We’ll contact them the day after tomorrow,” Harry’s grin was at odds with his stubbornness.

"Well we should at least check the life-death meter to see if anything has changed," Draco said musingly. "If you have a reflection now, that has to be progress."

"Not necessarily," Harry cocked his head to the side. "Maybe I've had a reflection all along but this was the first time anyone noticed."

"We should check anyway," Draco insisted. "The needle wiggled once before, maybe it will again."

"When did it wiggle?" Harry's eyebrows shot upward in surprise.

"When I was holding your shoes the other day," Draco reminded him. "You were there. You didn't notice?"

"No," Harry blushed

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing," Harry ducked his head.

"Can't hide your face now," Draco pointed out. "You were looking at my arse instead, weren't you? You cheeky poofter, you were admiring my arse." He shook his head in mock dismay, "Missed your own needle wiggle because you couldn't keep your eyes off of me."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry swung his fist out to punch Draco in the shoulder but it passed straight through. In the reflection it looked like two solid arms intersecting. He eyed Draco curiously. “You’re so different,” he said.

“No I’m not,” Draco silently reprimanded himself for letting his guard down again.

“You are,” Harry insisted. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I don’t know,” Draco averted his eyes and tried to regain his stoic emotional footing. “You need someone to be nice to you right now.”

“See?” Harry said quietly. “Different.”

“What does it matter,” Draco was suddenly annoyed. He stood and waved the mirror along to follow. "Let's go see if you’re any more alive.”

Harry walked beside his reflection so that Draco could turn his head the right direction when speaking. They headed down to the Charms classroom and stopped in front of the case that contained Harry's shoes and the life-death meter.

"Have you tried interacting with it?" Draco asked.

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't seem to care that I'm here," he said simply.

"But that needle wiggled," Draco pointed.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Well," Draco thought carefully, "No. I was a bit upset at the time."

"Over me?" Harry smiled.

"Academically speaking," Draco said with a dismissive air. "Let me think, I was holding your shoe when it happened." He lifted the glass and removed Harry's trainer. "When I looked up, the needle had moved."

"I remember you holding my shoe," Harry said. "But I was looking at the shoe and trying to remember what happened, not looking at the meter."

"Wait," Draco remembered. "You held my hands," he looked up at Harry's reflection. "I think that's when it happened. I can't be sure but I think so."

"That's right," Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I put my hand on yours, but then you looked startled so I stopped. Then you ran."

"Do it now," Draco held the shoe out. "Put your hand in the same place."

Harry reached out and laid his hand over Draco's. They both watched the meter. Nothing happened. Draco shook the shoe as though trying to jostle its energy loose. Nothing. He moved it forward and back and Harry tried to keep his ghost hand in place, but without actual physical contact it slipped through.

The needle wiggled.

"There!" Draco shouted. "Just a bit, but it moved!" Sure enough the needle had tilted just slightly toward Alive.

"Bloody Merlin!" Harry exclaimed. "It did move!"

"Don't stop," Draco inspected the position of their hands. He was bracing the heel and toe box, and Harry's hand was resting on top of the canvas, his fingers overlapping with Draco's. "Get your other hand on here," he instructed.

Harry slid his other hand across the top of the shoe. They both stared at the needle. Another nearly imperceptible movement toward Alive.

"Let me get my hands out of the way," Draco muttered and shifted his grip to the sole to give Harry maximum coverage.

"It’s gone," Harry said. The needle resettled halfway between the two demarcations.

"Try this," Draco placed the shoe on top of the glass case and stepped away. "Maybe I'm interfering."

Harry placed his hands on the shoe and stared up at the dial. This time it didn't move at all. "That doesn't make sense," he muttered, moving his grip around to see if it made a difference.

"There's something to this," Draco said thoughtfully. "There's something in the way you touched it a moment ago that had an effect."

"Not much of one, though."

"But it's something," Draco plucked at his lower lip introspectively. "Maybe touching something from when you were alive is the trick. Maybe we just need to find the right object."

"I'm not dead, Malfoy," Harry sighed.

"Quite right," Draco pointed to the meter. "You've got a device that says so definitively."

"So what should we do?" Harry asked, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair. Draco noticed the way the spiky, messy locks flicked through his fingers. He forced himself to look away.

"I think we need two things," Draco said. "Well three, really." He counted on his fingers. "One, we need to experiment with other personal objects. Two, it seems likely a spell will be needed to fully invoke the reversal, once we figure out what the right object is. Three," he grimaced.

"Three?"

"We need Granger," Draco said with disgust. "Because she might be smart enough to put it all together."

"We'll call her the day after Christmas," Harry said. "In the meantime if you can get back into Gryffindor we can try out more of my belongings."

"I hope that third-year prat isn’t waiting for me again," Draco sighed.

“If you can get in, I've got something that will help you get out," Harry smiled.

They walked upstairs with the floating mirror to retrieve a selection of Harry's personal effects. The stairs were active, swinging about the empty tower with enthusiasm. They looked up and saw Peeves flit through, but fortunately he didn’t see them down below. With the school so empty, Draco knew the poltergeist would be bored and looking for action.

"My first day back I went down to the Charms classroom to find out what was going on. I saw the meter up there on the wall." Harry mused as they climbed the stairs. "I tried moving the needle with my hand but it didn't budge. That was when I learned that I couldn't touch anything."

"Your first day back?" Draco furrowed his brow in confusion.

"I was gone, and then I came back," Harry said.

"What do you mean gone?" Draco was still perplexed.

"I'm not sure," Harry frowned, "I remember being in Charms class, and then there was a flash of light, and then pain and blackness," his eyes looked distant as he remembered. His face was drawn and he swallowed hard. "It hurt for a long time," he continued. "And then everything became sort of gray, and then lighter still but blurry, and then it got clearer until I could see again."

"So how long were you gone? When did you get back?" Draco asked. The stairs up to the Gryffindor house landing were coming about.

"Supper the day before winter break."

"Fucking hell," Draco breathed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed himself. "I told you I heard you, Potter. I didn't know you had only just come back."

"It's okay," Harry reached over and touched Draco's shoulder. It felt like vapor but looked solid in the mirror.

"It's not okay," Draco felt a lump in his throat and couldn't stop himself from welling up. "You sounded desperate," he squeezed his eyes shut to hold back tears. "I looked around and didn't see anyone so I didn't say anything. You must have been terrified," he shook his head. "And I didn't do anything about it."

"It's okay, really," Harry folded his arms around Draco and surrounded him with warmth. "How could you have known?"

"I should have known. I should have helped." Draco insisted painfully. They mounted the last flight and stopped before the Fat Lady painting. "I'm not a bad person, Potter," Draco said suddenly, looking up at the other boy's reflection. "If I had known it was you, I would have done anything to help." He grimaced, "I know it doesn't seem like me, and I know how things have always been. But you need to know that it's not what it seems anymore. I'm not what I seem."

"I know," Harry smiled reassuringly. "Well, I mean I know now."

"I need you to believe that I'm not a bad person," Draco stressed.

"I know you're not," Harry expression became concerned.

"I know you think I'm just a Death Eater," Draco blundered forward. "But I'm not. I need you to know that."

"Okay," Harry nodded, eyeing Draco warily.

Draco took a deep breath, "Good. Because I need to go to Borgin and Burkes the day after tomorrow. And I need you to trust me."


	8. Chapter 8

Draco left the mirror in the corridor and managed to sneak into Gryffindor house without arousing anyone’s attention. Once in Harry’s room he latched the door behind himself to prevent any nosy housemates from investigating.

“Let’s pack a bag,” he grabbed a satchel from the floor of Harry’s closet. He tossed a few items of clothing into it, then turned to the bookcase. “Which trophy is your favorite?” he said with a hint of annoyance. “I can’t believe you have enough of these that I have to ask.”

“Any of them is fine.”

“What else should we take? What’s something that’s important to you?” Draco asked.

“That photo of my parents,” Harry said. Draco stuffed it into the bag. “That photo from first year,” he added.

“You have this framed?” Draco picked it up and inspected it in disbelief. It was a group shot of their entire first year, taken just before they were sorted into houses. “Look how young we were,” he murmured.

“It’s my favorite photo,” Harry stood just behind his shoulder.

Draco scanned the crowd of happy faces and found himself easily, his white blond hair embarrassingly slicked back. “Look at my hair,” Draco moaned.

“You thought you were so bloody brilliant,” Harry chuckled.

“I still do,” Draco said, “but my hair looks better now.” He swept his fingers across his neatly trimmed forelock.

“Mine looks the same,” Harry said.

Draco found him in the photo, and had to admit he was right. His head of short messy black hair hadn’t changed much over the years. Nor had his glasses. Nor had his smile. As he watched the jostling young kids moving about in the photo he saw their two younger selves turn and smile at each other, just for a brief moment before turning away. He felt warmth on his shoulder and knew Harry was leaning on him, awash in the same nostalgia that had Draco in its thrall. They had so much potential in this photo. Things had changed so quickly, he thought.

“Bygone days,” he muttered and stuffed it into the bag. He picked out a few more items and then turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Harry had moved to the corner of the room. “Open this chest, over here by the closet.”

Draco obeyed and spied a silvery pile of fabric inside. He lifted it, surprised by the slippery lightweight texture. With a start he realized he could see through it where his hands clutched the shimmery folds. “Is this an invisibility cloak?” he asked in shock.

“It will help you get out of here without being cursed by underclassmen,” Harry said.

“How long have you had this?” he asked, hearing an echo of the Marauder’s Map discovery the day before.

“A long time,” Harry said. “Put it on and let’s get out of here.”

Draco covered up and checked himself in the mirror. He couldn’t see a bit of himself, but he could see Harry standing by the door.

“Is it not working?” Harry asked.

“It’s working,” Draco turned and pushed it back from his face. “Can’t you tell?”

“No,” Harry looked confused. “You look like you’re crouching under a sheet of cling film.”

“I can’t see myself at all in the mirror,” Draco slipped it back over his head.

“I don’t understand,” Harry sighed. “I can’t see ghosts, but I can see through the cloak. The meter moves when I touch my shoes, but not every time. You’re the only one who can hear me, and I’m only visible in a mirror. What bloody sense does any of this make?”

“It makes no sense,” Draco agreed. “That’s why we have to keep experimenting.”

“You’re right,” Harry sighed. “Let’s go.”

They crept back down the stairs and out of Gryffindor house. Draco packed the invisibility cloak away and summoned the mirror to follow him down the stairs. It was a relief to see Harry again, after being limited to just his voice in the corridor.

They went back down to the Charms classroom. Draco held each personal object out for Harry to touch as best he could, but the needle didn’t wobble once. Then Harry passed his hands through the glass case and touched his shoes again, but to no avail.

“I don’t understand,” Draco sighed in frustration. “It worked, we both saw it. Why doesn’t it work now?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sounded discouraged. Without thinking Draco reached out to touch his hair and passed through him.

“We’ve been at it for hours,” Draco said. “It’s Christmas Eve, for Merlin’s sake. Let’s give it a rest.”

Draco felt obligated to show up at Christmas Eve supper, if only to be polite and offer well wishes to the staff. He ate quickly, then approached the Head Table for what he hoped would be a very brief greeting. He nodded respectfully to Hagrid, who eyed him warily and nodded back. Professor Sprout and Madam Pince were deep in conversation and hardly acknowledged his presence. Professor Slughorn, on the other hand, felt like chatting.

“Draco Malfoy! Have a seat, my boy,” he said boisterously, his face ruddy with drink.

“Good evening, Professor,” Draco said through his teeth, wishing he had skipped this obligation so he could be on his way. He obediently sat next to the teacher.

“How are you passing the time this winter break?” Slughorn took a sip from his cup and sighed in appreciation of its contents.

“Just doing a bit of studying,” Draco lied like it was a reflex. “Actually I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to Harry Potter,” he said more truthfully.

“Oh yes, nasty business,” Slughorn grimaced. “In my opinion, the boy is deceased.”

“But Dumbledore’s life-death meter--”

“That bloody thing is worthless,” Slughorn waved his hand dismissively. “Life-death meter, whoever heard of such a thing.”

“So you don’t think Potter can be brought back?” Draco asked.

“No more than you can bring back anyone from the dead,” Slughorn gulped from his cup again.

“The old sot is completely pissed,” Harry’s voice came from Draco’s left.

“Professor Slughorn,” Draco asked. “Have you ever heard of a kind of ghost that could be heard but couldn’t be seen?” He paused, then added, “Except maybe in a mirror?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” Slughorn frowned. “You’re far enough in your schooling to know the answer to that.”

“There’s no such ghost,” Draco said.

“Correct.”

“Because I’m not a ghost,” Harry said.

“But if I were to describe that,” Draco said. “A voice that can be heard, but a person who can only be seen in a mirror, what would you say that was?”

Slughorn smiled, the broken capillaries on his nose inflamed from the alcohol, “Why I do believe I would call that madness, Mister Malfoy.”

“Thank you,” Draco smiled in return and stood. “Happy Christmas, Professor.”

“Happy Christmas, Draco!” Slughorn called as he retreated to the exit.

“What was that about?” Harry demanded as Draco strode towards the dungeon. He passed a pair of students on their way to supper and held his tongue. “You don’t believe him, do you?” Harry demanded.

Draco checked over his shoulder and then entered Slytherin house.

“Talk to me,” Harry sounded desperate. “Do you really think he knows what he’s talking about?”

Draco entered the common room and grasped the edge of the transfigured mirror. He spun it around and pointed it at the source of Harry’s voice. He appeared in the reflection, looking very young and very scared in his school robe and stocking feet.

“No,” Draco said. “I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about.” He touched the glass, wishing he could reach through it. Harry stepped closer and placed his hand over Dracos, his eyes distressed. Draco felt himself soften. He reached out now, using the reflection to guide his hand. He felt the warmth where Harry’s hair should have been and trailed his fingers down to his back. “He’s a damn fool who doesn’t know and doesn’t care,” he said gently. “And I think it’s safe to say he’ll be no help to us.”

Harry’s reflection reached up and touched Draco’s hair in return. He felt the warmth glide down and caress his ear.

“Don’t let it get you down,” Draco said reassuringly. “Day after tomorrow we’ll call Granger and Minerva and Professor Trelawney. I have no doubt they’ll return right away to help.”

“Why do you call McGonagall by her first name?” Harry peered at him curiously.

“Did I?” Draco was surprised. “I must have done it by accident.”

“No, you called her Minerva yesterday, too,” Harry said.

“I’m afraid this is in the category of things I can’t share,” Draco sank gracefully to the sofa and smiled apologetically.

“You honestly can’t tell me?” Harry sat next to him and looked annoyed.

Draco’s heart beat faster. He really did want to share. But he was afraid if he breathed even one word of it, it would break the seal and the secret would never be contained again.

“And you can’t tell me about Borgin and Burkes?” Harry sounded more annoyed.

“I need to get my father’s Dark Arts book collection back from them,” Draco was happy to change the subject.

“Why do you need his Dark Arts books?” Harry asked quietly. Draco could see the distrust in his eyes.

“I asked you to trust me,” he said.

“It’s hard,” Harry said flatly.

“I’m donating his collection to Hogwarts,” he sighed. “I was actually hoping we would find some clue to what happened to you. Professor Flitwick thinks Finnegan’s sneeze changed the pronunciation of the protection charm he cast and invoked a dark curse.”

“Is that what happened?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m in this mess because of a sneeze?”

“That’s right,” Draco smiled apologetically. “If it helps, Finnigan feels awful.”

“It doesn’t help,” Harry glowered into the crackling fire. He thought quietly for a few minutes. “So why does Borgin and Burkes have your books in the first place?”

“I was trying to move them in a way that wouldn’t attract attention,” Draco said. “If I transferred them directly to Hogwarts it would look like I support the school.”

“Do you support the school?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why did you fight against us?” Harry asked bitterly.

Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes. There was so much he wanted to say. “Harry,” he sighed, “I didn’t.” He swallowed hard, “I know it’s hard to believe, but I was on Hogwarts’ side.” He grimaced, “But that can’t get out or I’m dead. And maybe Minerva, and maybe everyone else, too.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said softly.

“I know,” Draco said. “I just need you to trust me.”

Harry looked at him from the mirror, his eyes shining in the firelight. He scooted over on the couch until he was sitting directly next to Draco, their thighs touching. He touched Draco’s face and his fingers slid warmly down his cheek. Draco watched him in the mirror and felt a pang of remorse as he saw what he could barely feel. Harry leaned his head down until it rested on Draco’s shoulder and slipped their hands together.

“I trust you,” he said.


	9. Chapter 9

_Draco was in an unfamiliar corridor again. He walked anxiously, looking behind him and ahead for any sign of familiarity. He thought somehow that he must be at Hogwarts, but the stone walls were strange and featureless. With a start, he realized he was dreaming again. This corridor was in his mind. And that meant Harry was here somewhere. He turned around and there he was, his expression welcoming and open._

_“Is it okay that I’m here again?” Harry asked._

_“Yes,” Draco couldn’t help but smile. The feeling of being defenseless and unguarded had returned. There was nowhere to hide his feelings, no way to camouflage them here._

_“Malfoy,” Harry said hesitantly, “do you like me?”_

_“What?” Draco tried to dissemble, “What kind of question is that? You’re the biggest wanker I’ve ever met, if that’s what you’re asking.”_

_“That’s not what I’m asking,” Harry smirked and took a step forward._

_“We’re not playing Truth or Dare,” Draco reminded him. His heart fluttered and he felt himself blush. He wondered at his total inability to guard his feelings the way he could when he was awake._

_Harry stepped forward again and again until they were close enough to touch. He reached out and grasped Draco’s hands, and he could swear they felt real, like real flesh, not dream flesh. Harry looked into his eyes and tipped his chin slightly, then closed the gap between them and kissed him tenderly._

_Draco’s heart squeezed hard. He could feel Harry’s lips against his, warm and alive and inviting. He was here, he was real. He pushed back and curled his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him in closer and pressing his fingers into his back. Harry’s hands worked their way up to Draco’s hair and tugged gently. Draco’s tongue reached and explored as their hips moved synchronously together. Harry withdrew slightly and kissed him softly a few more times._

_“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said, his eyes shining._

_“Me too,” Draco said huskily. What had happened to his well-practiced detachment and experienced self-denial?_

_“When you wake up we still won’t be able to touch each other,” Harry said sadly, brushing his fingers lightly across Draco’s forelock._

_“Not for long,” Draco said firmly. “We’ll find a way to bring you back, I promise.”_

_“What if you can’t?” Harry asked._

_Draco shook his head, “Then I’ll have Finnigan sneeze curse me and I’ll join you over on the other side,” He drew Harry in close again and kissed him deeply, aware that time was short. He needed to get as much of this as he could before he woke up._

The first thing Draco did when he awoke was search for the warm spot in the bed. He found it spread across a large swath of mattress and summoned the large mirror. Sure enough, Harry was sprawled, spread-eagled and gazing at the canopy with a dazed smile on his face. He rolled his head to the side and smirked at Draco as he moved the mirror above them so he could look up and see them lying together side by side.

Harry rolled over and slid his hand across Draco’s chest. The warm slight pressure was familiar by now, not enough tactile sensation to satisfy, but enough to set off a wave of goosebumps. Harry nuzzled into the curve of Draco’s shoulder.

“You’re not feeling embarrassed about last night, are you?” Harry asked softly.

“No,” Draco lied. “So that’s really you in my dreams? You remember that, too?” His eyes were fixed on the reflection above him. He knew he was the only body in the bed, but from this perspective, it looked like he was curled up with a boy he’d spent years trying not to want.

“Yes,” Harry’s voice was warm. “It happened by accident the first night I came here, but it only confused you that time. Last night went much better.”

Draco chuckled at the understatement. He took a breath and asked a question he was reluctant to ask, but needed to know the answer to. “How did you know?” he said hesitantly. “I mean, that I’m, you know. That I like you.”

“Just a feeling I got,” Harry said. “You got the same feeling from me, didn’t you? Besides,” Harry continued, “It seemed worthwhile to try. I don’t have a lot to lose right now, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“But how can you like me?” Draco’s throat felt dry and he couldn’t believe he had voiced his thought out loud. “After everything we’ve been through.”

“That day outside of the Charms classroom, when I saw the way you looked at my shoes, when you cried, it seemed like maybe something had changed.”

Draco’s face burned with humiliation. Why had Potter seen that?

“And then,” Harry paused and laughed self-consciously. “This is going to sound silly.”

“Go on.”

“When we played chess,” he said. “You pushed the chair out for me.”

“So?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “You couldn’t see me, but you pushed the chair out anyway so I could sit with you.” His reflection stroked Draco’s reflection’s cheek, “It was a sort of kindness I’d never seen in you before and it meant a lot to me. More so because you did it without realizing.” 

“I’m glad you noticed,” Draco’s voice was thick with desire. The sight of Harry’s hands on his body was driving him crazy. He closed his eyes as the warmth on his shoulder moved to his neck, then up to his ear. He looked into the mirror and saw Potter pressing his mouth against his skin. It wasn’t enough contact, but it hinted at lovely things. “Are you kissing me?” he asked.

“I’m trying,” Harry’s voice was right in his ear.

Draco’s libido awoke, perking up in increments until it was at full attention. He was painfully aware that Harry could see it poking against the loose fabric of his pyjama bottoms. The warmth moved down his jaw and up the point of his chin to his mouth. He parted his lips and felt warmth slip between them, and wished desperately that he could feel more of the other boy pressing against him. A wave of warmth washed over his groin as Harry’s reflection laid on top of him, and he wished again for more.

“You touch yours, I’ll touch mine,” Harry murmured. Draco slipped his hand into his trousers and stroked himself as the heat covered him from head to toe. He kept his eyes fixed on the mirror and saw Harry lying on top of him, pressing all over his body with his hands and mouth. Harry’s breath was in his ear and the sound made him harder. He curled his free hand around the warm space above him and imagined running his finger down Harry’s back. Harry whimpered in his ear and Draco tugged faster. When he climaxed it was difficult to tell the difference between the warmth of his own flush and the phantom boy on top of him, and when he heard Harry gasp he knew he had come, too.

Draco lay for a moment with his hand on his groin, enjoying the lovely residual pleasure that thrummed through his arms and legs. Harry breathed softly, nestled up against Draco’s shoulder. Finally Draco slipped free and found his wand, then cast a cleansing charm over his trousers and underpants.

“If your wand doesn’t work,” Draco frowned.

“No need,” Harry said quickly. “I don’t eat or drink or sleep, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised by my lack of bodily humours."

Draco had a quick shower and ran up to the Great Hall for breakfast. As he entered he drew up short and gawked at the lavish decor. That's right, it was Christmas! He felt warmth press up against his back and wrap around his shoulders.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," Harry's voice was in his ear.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Draco murmured under his breath.

The ghosts flitted about merrily, making a racket and calling holiday cheer across the vast space to make the room feel a little less deserted. The teachers wore fuzzy Santa hats in a good-natured display of holiday spirit. A handful of Hufflepuffs who had stayed on for winter break exchanged small gifts and laughed uproariously. Draco ate quietly at his empty table and marveled at how different this was from every previous Christmas. He sighed.

"Missing your family?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said honestly, keeping his voice low and barely moving his lips. "What I'm missing hasn't been reality since I was a child." He turned his teacup in his hand.

"I never had much of a Christmas," Harry said, his voice distant and thoughtful. "Not until I came here."

"Want to go for a walk?" Draco asked. "Get out in the snow for a bit?"

"Sure," Harry followed him out to the foyer.

Draco stopped off quickly for a cloak and scarf and summoned the mirror along with him as he exited the castle and carefully picked his way down the slippery front steps. Harry's reflection shielded his eyes from the snow glare, strangely underdressed in his school robe and stocking feet. He walked along the top of the snow, too insubstantial to sink through the frosted crust.

Draco reached out and found the warm vapor of Harry's hand. Harry smiled shyly and curled his invisible fingers around Draco's as they made their way down the snowy slope towards the lake. They stopped at the water's edge and Harry slipped both arms around Draco's neck. Draco watched in the mirror as Harry tipped his head and pressed his lips up against his. He closed his eyes and focused on the whisper of heat and wished he could kiss him back.

"Malfoy!" A booming voice echoed across the snowy hillside. Draco stepped back self-consciously and felt his face flush. He knew he looked strange, standing at the edge of the lake with a floating mirror. "What're yeh doin' down here, boy?"

"Hagrid," Harry sounded wistful.

"Just enjoying the Christmas snow," Draco called as the oversized groundskeeper drew nearer.

"Noticed yeh talkin' ter yerself at breakfast," Hagrid paused at a safe distance. "Conjurin', maybe. Thought I oughtter investigate." The burly man peered through his wild black hair and squinted at the hovering mirror. "Whaddya have there? What're yeh up to?" He was openly suspicious.

"I'm not up to anything," Draco snapped.

"Is that a mirror there?" Hagrid inched closer and extended his wand. "Lemme see it."

"Show him," Harry said. "Maybe he'll see me."

"Let me handle this," Draco hissed.

"Who're ye talkin’ to?" Hagrid stopped short and braced defensively. "Yer Dark Mark's not actin' up on yeh, is it?"

"Hagrid," Draco eyed his wand and raised his hands to show he was unarmed. He could get to it in a flash if he needed to, but he hoped it wouldn't be necessary. "I'm going to turn it so you can see," he slowly reached his hand out and touched the mirror's edge.

"Careful now," Hagrid recoiled and shielded his eyes. "That's not a trap, is it?"

"No, you utter berk," Draco snapped. "Just look at it and tell me what you see."

Hagrid slowly lowered his hand and peeked at the reflection. His eyes bugged and he lunged at the glass. "Harry!" He shouted. "Harry Potter! Is that really you?"

"You can see me, Hagrid?" Harry pivoted so that his reflection was better angled to face the huge man.

Hagrid patted the glass with his gloved hands and frowned. "Are yeh trapped in there, Harry?"

"I don't think he can hear you," Draco said.

"Why can't he hear me?" Hagrid tapped the glass harder and Draco feared it would shatter.

"No, Harry can hear you, but you can't hear him," Draco clarified.

"Did you do this, Malfoy?" Hagrid stepped back and readied his wand again.

"No," Draco raised his empty hands again. "I found him. I'm the only one who can hear him."

"Get him outta there," Hagrid jabbed threateningly with his wand.

"Hagrid, no!" Harry shouted. He waved his arms to get the groundskeeper's attention. Hagrid spied the movement and hesitated. "Malfoy didn't do this to me!" he shouted. "He's helping me!" He gestured wildly to Draco.

"He can't hear you, Potter. Shouting doesn't help," Draco winced.

"Yeh look like yer in trouble, Harry," Hagrid said, retraining his wand on Draco.

"Wait wait," Draco held up his hands defensively again. "Let's do yes and no questions. Harry, stop your waving and just nod."

"Is that really you, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

"Yes," Harry enunciated and nodded with an exaggerated motion.

"Are yeh hurt?"

"No."

"Did Malfoy put you in there?"

"No."

"Tell him I'm your friend," Draco said nervously. Hagrid still hadn't dropped his wand. "Yes or no, am I your friend?"

"Yes," Harry turned and smiled at Draco through the reflection. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Draco's and nodded again.

"Well I'll be," Hagrid murmured.

"Happy now? Draco asked. "Now put your wand away, you overgrown nutter."

Hagrid reluctantly lowered his wand, although he kept a firm grip on it. "How're we gonna get him outta there?"

"I don't know yet," Draco said.

"Weren’t yeh gonna tell anyone?" Hagrid narrowed his eyes again.

"He didn't want to bother anyone on Christmas," Draco said wryly. Harry shrugged comically.

"Don' be silly, Harry! Everyone wants yeh back," Hagrid said. "Christmas or no, we need teh call everyone, get some strong minds workin' on it."

"Tell him I missed him," Harry said to Draco.

"What's he sayin'?" Hagrid raised his voice to a bellowing shout. "I can't hear yeh!"

"He can hear you just fine," Draco cringed and covered his ears. "He says he missed you."

Hagrid jabbed his hand at the mirror as though trying to muss the reflection's hair. Harry ducked and waved his hand playfully.

"All right, are we quite finished?" Draco rolled his eyes. "It's freezing out here and we have owls to send."

"I tell yeh," Hagrid said to the mirror as they trudged up the snowy hill to the castle. "I don't know why yeh chose teh show up for Draco Malfoy. Seems yeh gotta lot of better friends teh choose from than a Death Eater."

"I'm right here," Draco snapped.

"Tell him I don't know why you're the only one who can hear me," Harry said. "But I'm glad it's you."

"I'm not going to say that," Draco said firmly.

"I just want him to know that he can trust you," Harry insisted.

"What's he sayin'?"

"He wants you to trust me," Draco said, his voice dripping with condescension.

"You know yer the spittin' image of Professor Snape when yeh talk like that," Hagrid regarded him curiously as they mounted the steps to the entrance.

"That's not terribly surprising,," Draco said.

"He's right!" Harry exclaimed. "I couldn't put my finger on it before but it's true. Sometimes you sound just like him."

"He had a big influence on me," Draco said mildly, and his heart ached at the words. "Especially near the end."

Together they penned a series of notes to their friends and colleagues, asking them to return. They sent off a flight of owls, with high hopes that they would start showing up before the day was through.

Granger and Weasley were the first to arrive. Their confusion over Harry’s predicament was similar to Hagrid's, and they immediately had their wands in hand and aimed at Draco’s throat. Professor Flitwick showed up next, then Professor Trelawney, followed by Professor Sprout, Madam Pince and Professor Slughorn from the staff quarters. Flitwick saw Hermione's stance and readied his wand, then the next person, then the next until Draco was backed against a wall with a half-dozen wands trained on him. Even Hagrid hovered at the fringe, rethinking his position.

"No! No!" Harry jumped up and down and waved his arms desperately. He shook his head vehemently and tried to pantomime that Draco was okay. But all eyes were on the Slytherin and no one could hear Harry but him.

"I knew you were behind this, Malfoy," Weasley shouted.

"Don't be daft, Weasel," Draco's voice sounded braver than he felt. "I wasn't even there."

"Who else has enough knowledge of the Dark Arts to do something like this?" Granger demanded. "You've had it in for Harry for years."

"I'm the one who found him!" Draco snapped. "I've spent every minute of the last two days trying to bring him back!"

"Two days?" Granger gasped. "You kept him trapped in there for two days?"

"I'm not keeping him trapped in there!" Draco protested. "He's not in there, he's out here!"

"Tell them to look at me!" Harry shouted. Draco could see the top of the mirror over the heads of the threatening mob. He waved his hands desperately for attention.

"He wants you to look at him," Draco pointed urgently.

"I'm not turning my back on you, Malfoy," Weasley spat. "Never turn your back on a Death Eater."

"Sonorus!" A voice from the edge of the throng shouted. Suddenly Professor McGonagall's voice pealed loudly through the space. "He is not a Death Eater. Remove your wands from him at once." Everyone ducked and clapped their hands over their ears. She cast Quietus and returned to her normal volume. "Step away from Mister Malfoy, please."

The crowd shuffled and parted and permitted her to pass. She strode forward in a fine silver holiday robe and cupped Draco's face in her hands.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, concerned eyes searching his.

"I'm fine," Draco said. "Thank you."

Professor McGonagall turned and regarded Harry's reflection in the mirror. Her eyes welled up with tears and she smiled softly. "Good to see you, Harry," she said.

"Good to see you, too, Professor," Harry bowed his head respectfully.

"I can't hear him," McGonagall said in surprise.

"I'm the only one who can, apparently," Draco said. "If you want to ask him anything I can repeat what he says."

"Are we really going to trust him?" Weasley protested. "He's a Death Eater, he's just going to say whatever benefits him anyway."

"No he won't," Harry waved his hands and shook his head emphatically. He stepped up close to the glass so that he appeared to be standing just on the other side of the barrier. He looked pleadingly at his two best friends and said clearly, "Trust him."

"Mister Malfoy is not a Death Eater," Professor McGonagall repeated, looking sternly down her nose at Weasley, in spite of the fact that he stood a full head taller than her.

"He has the Dark Mark," Weasley pointed at. Draco's sleeve.

"I think it's time you showed it, Draco," McGonagall said.

"Minerva, I can't," Draco shook his head and slipped his arm behind his back.

"The war is over, boy," she said gently. "It's time to stop living in fear."

"I can't risk you," Draco's heart pounded. "I made a promise to Severus to protect you."

"Did you now?" McGonagall was amused. "Well I made a promise to Severus to protect you. And since I outrank you, my promise prevails."

"What is she talking about?" Harry asked.

"What are you talking about?" Granger echoed.

Draco pressed his lips together and looked at Harry in the mirror. Harry's eyes were worried. He stepped closer and touched Draco's shoulder comfortingly.

"Whatever it is, it will be okay," he said. "If Professor McGonagall says it's safe to show it, then it's safe."

"What did he say?" Granger asked.

Draco and Harry looked at each other for a silent moment, then Draco rolled up his sleeve.. The mark blazed darkly against his skin, revealed in increments. The group of students and staff stepped back with a collective wince. A gruesome skull was outlined just beneath his inner elbow. A snake descended from its mouth and wrapped around itself before ending in a gaping maw, ready to strike.

Harry reached out tentatively and traced it with his finger, leaving a trail of warmth on Draco's skin.

"Harry, don't touch it!" Professor Sprout cried.

"It's different," Harry said. He looked up from within the mirror and knew they couldn't hear him. He pointed to direct their attention and their gaze shifted to the reflection of Draco's arm, just at the place where Harry touched it.

"The Dark Mark makes a figure eight," Harry said. "The sign for infinity, for an eternal pledge to the Dark Lord." He held up his hand and signed a figure eight for the benefit of the crowd. "But this one has a double curve. Two ess-curves." He looked up and traced the shape in the air. "Turn your arm so they can see."

Draco held his arm out flat so his forearm was visible to the group. He looked down and felt the warm invisible resistance of Harry's finger trailing along the mark again.

"I think he's saying it's different from you-know-who's Dark Mark," Granger said. "So whose mark is it?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully, then looked up in surprise. "Severus Snape!" He exclaimed. His reflection turned to face Granger and he mouthed it clearly, "Severus Snape."

"Snape?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Since when did Snape have marked followers?"

"He didn't," Professor McGonagall said. "It was the only way to save Draco from the Dark Lord."

Draco pulled his sleeve back down and kept his expression stony and detached. Inside he was trying not to panic. He had given Severus his word that he would not reveal the nature of his mark, nor what he did during the war.

"When Severus learned Draco had been marked he had to protect him," Professor McGonagall explained. "He had entered into an unbreakable vow with Draco’s mother to keep him safe. The Dark Mark would destroy him, so Severus asked me to help save his life," she smiled affectionately at him. "He pledged loyalty to Severus, who was in turn sworn to protect him. Together we altered the mark so that it no longer obeyed Voldemort's commands." She touched his head gently, an almost maternal gesture, "And in doing so I was sworn to protect him, too."

"So Malfoy had both you and Snape sworn to protect him," Weasley said. "Who was protecting Harry?"

"Everyone else," Draco said dryly.

"Now if we could all calm down and put our wands away," Professor McGonagall raised an authoritative eyebrow at the group, "I think we should all adjourn to the Charms classroom to see if we can return Mister Potter to our side of the mirror."

The staff and students trooped down the hall towards the site of Harry's disappearance. Draco waved the mirror alongside and Harry walked with their shoulders bumping warmly together.

"Why two of Hogwarts greatest Professors should protect an evil prat like you is beyond me," Weasley said quietly over Draco's shoulder.

"Given their reputations," Draco replied, "maybe you should question your own judgement rather than theirs."

"Bollocks," Weasley said. "They haven't seen the worst of you. You showed them your pity-me face and they fell for it."

"Tell him to stop," Harry sounded annoyed.

"He's not going to believe you told me to say that," Draco said.

"What did he say?" Granger asked. "You should let us walk with the mirror."

"You realize he doesn't live in the mirror, don't you?" Draco asked.

“Just let me walk by it,” Granger insisted.

“Have it your way,” Draco waved the mirror behind him so that it hovered near Granger’s elbow. Harry hesitated and looked back over his shoulder at her.

“I’ll walk by her,” he said to Draco. He dropped back and smiled at her reflection. She smiled back.

“I was so worried about you,” she said. “I was afraid you would be gone forever.”

“So was I,” Harry said. He reached out and touched her shoulder.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, hauling everyone up short. “I can feel that! It’s warm and like a gust of air.”

“They can sort of feel me, too!” Harry said to Draco, his eyes lit up with surprise. “They can see and feel me, but only you can hear me. I don’t understand why.”

“What did he say?” Weasley asked as everyone crowded around.

“He thinks it’s strange that you can see and feel him but only I can hear him.”

“Let me feel,” Professor Flitwick pushed forward with his hand out. He watched himself in the mirror and with some difficulty managed to navigate the reversed image and press his hand against Harry’s leg. “Oh my, yes.”

Each of the staff had a chance to touch him and feel the warm resistance that Draco had become so intimately familiar with.

“I feel like I’m in a petting zoo,” Harry cringed.

“I think he’s had enough,” Draco said. He raised his arm and placed it around the warm space that Harry occupied. In the mirror it appeared that his arm was around Harry’s shoulders. “There’s not much more to be learned by molesting him further.”

They continued on to the Charms room and sat in the student seats while Draco stood up front and shared what he knew. He set the mirror so Harry could stand next to him and face the group. Which meant he was really facing away from the group. Draco marveled at how difficult it must be to navigate the world in reverse.

He shared what they had learned, that he couldn’t see or be seen by ghosts, that the invisibility cloak didn’t work for him, what the experience of disappearing had been like. The students and staff listened attentively. Draco translated for Harry, repeating his words as close to verbatim as he could.

“We should also tell them about the shoes,” Harry said.

“We don’t know much about what happened,” Draco said hesitantly. “I mean, do you know how to explain it?”

“If we tell them what we saw and what we tried, they might think of something we haven’t,” Harry shrugged.

“Hey,” Weasley said. “Talk to us, not each other.”

Draco shot him a withering look. “My invisible colleague here asked me to tell you about an event we can’t explain.” He described the first time he saw the needle on the life-death meter move, and then the second time. He told them about the other personal items they had tried unsuccessfully.

“Can you do it again?” Granger stood, her eyes filled with hope.

“We can try,” Harry said.

“Sure,” Draco translated. Everyone crowded in the hall around the glass case containing Harry’s abandoned shoes.

“Has anyone else noticed that he’s in his stocking feet?” Professor Sprout pointed to Harry’s reflection.

“Interesting,” Professor Trelawney’s eyes were hooded and introspective.

Draco removed one of the trainers from the case and held it in his hands. He braced the heel and toe box as he had before and Harry spread both hands over the top. He made as much contact as he could, overlapping Draco’s fingers and covering as much of the canvas as possible. His hands passed through the body of the shoe and intersected with the laces.

“Look!” Hagrid pointed at the life-death meter. It did more than wiggle, it moved definitively towards Alive.

“But it won’t go any further,” Draco said in frustration. “And we haven’t figured out why some touches work and others don’t.” Harry withdrew his hands and the needle returned to the center.

“Well I’ll be,” Professor Slughorn muttered.

"Place the shoes on the floor," Professor Flitwick suggested eagerly. "Maybe he needs to put his feet into them."

Draco and Harry stared at each other. "Don't look at me like that, you didn't think of it either," Draco said.

He set both trainers on the floor and stepped back. Harry angled his feet as though slipping into them, although he was as insubstantial as ever. Everyone held their breath in anticipation but the needle didn't wobble.

"Sybill, do you see anything?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Professor Trelawney knelt by the shoes. In the mirror it looked as though she were bowing at Harry's feet. She concentrated, her eyes screwed shut and her frizzy hair falling across her face.

"Should we--" Weasley started.

"Silence!" Professor Trelawney's head flew back and she gaped vacantly at the ceiling. Her voice rasped from her throat in chorused overtones that defied human vocal chords. _“The vessel has been emptied and the eternal ichor released to dwell in the vast inbetween realm, neither here nor the other side. The vessel must be recast by the mirrored half with the hand that values no other.”_ She fell forward and collapsed with a grunt.

“Dark magic,” Professor Slughorn said gruffly. “Anything that can rend the body and release the soul to wander in limbo must be dark magic.” He shook his head miserably, “All is lost.”

“She said the vessel can be rebuilt,” Granger looked to Professor McGonagall for agreement. “So it’s possible to bring him back.” She looked around at the group. “The vessel is the body, the eternal ichor is the soul.”

“I’m afraid we have our work cut out for us,” Professor McGonagall said. “We need to study this prophecy closely and search the Dark Arts archives to learn what can bring back a soul that is neither embodied nor released to death.”

“Draco,” Harry stepped out of the shoes. “I need a break. Can you ask them to give me a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Draco said. He addressed the group, “Harry is feeling a bit overwhelmed right now. Could we take a break and reconvene after supper?”

“Certainly,” Professor McGonagall said. “Madam Pince, would you please accompany me to the library? I would like to start researching right away.”

The staff murmured in agreement and followed the two women down the corridor, leaving Granger, Weasley, Harry and Draco behind. Granger watched her reflection in the mirror and guided her hand to Harry’s shoulder. “Do you want us to take you back to your room?”

“No,” Harry looked guiltily at Draco. “I want to talk to just you for a minute,” he said. “I just sort of want to lie down and have some quiet. Can you tell her that? Be nice about it.”

“What did he say?” Granger asked.

“He’s terribly sorry,” Draco said, “But he would like to return to Slytherin house with me.”

“What?” Weasley shouted.

Harry flinched and looked pained. “Tell him I need a moment of quiet to settle my mind and I need to be with someone who can hear me.”

“It’s maddening,” Weasley muttered. “He moves his mouth and says all of that and we can’t hear a bloody thing.”

“That’s sort of his point,” Draco said delicately. “He would like a few minutes that feel somewhat normal. I can hear him, and with the mirror it’s almost like everything is okay.” He reminded himself not to treat them like friends. He pulled himself up to his full height and regarded them arrogantly, “Certainly you two of all people would grant him that comfort.”

Hermione touched the cool glass of the mirror and looked up at her friend. “It’s okay,” she said. “Come find us when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Harry mouthed and touched her hand back.

She smiled. “It’s nice to feel that. It means you’re really there.”

“I’m here,” he said with a grateful smile.

“Let’s go, you daft spirit,” Draco beckoned and the mirror followed obediently. He could feel Weasley and Granger’s eyes on him as he retreated down the hall, and wondered if they could tell from the curl of his fingers that he was holding Harry’s hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as they entered Slytherin house. He flopped down onto the sofa before the fireplace and rubbed his eyes.

“It all happened very quickly,” Draco said as he sat next to him. Harry leaned over and tipped his head as though it were resting on Draco’s shoulder.

“I hope they’re not mad at me,” Harry said. “It was too much, all at once.”

“They understand,” Draco said. “Well, everything but me. They don’t understand that.”

“I don’t either,” Harry said. “Why are you the only one who can hear me? Of all people.”

“Maybe you’re secretly in love with me,” Draco looked down at him teasingly.

Harry lifted his head and looked at him with a mysterious glint in his eye. “Maybe,” he said.

Draco blushed. He cleared his throat and tried not to smile. He changed the subject. “So is there anything you want to ask me?”

“Yes,” Harry shook his head. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“It’s pretty simple,” Draco said. “The Dark Lord marked me to punish my father. He gave me the mission to kill Dumbledore because he knew one of two things would come of it: either I would succeed and my soul would be destroyed forever, or I would fail and would be killed in the effort. Either way, my father would be truly punished for his transgression.”

“That’s terrible,” Harry breathed. “Did you know you were being used to that end?”

“No,” Draco looked down at his hands. “I was proud at first, I thought I had been chosen. I thought it meant I had potential, that I was special.” He forced himself to look up at Harry, “You’ve always been special, Potter. I never was. I had to buy every bit of respect I ever got. Or get my father to extort it on my behalf,” he laughed ruefully.

Harry touched his head sympathetically, the warmth of his invisible hand spreading across Draco’s scalp.

“Severus is the one who showed me the truth,” he continued. “He prevented me from killing Professor Dumbledore to save me, you know. He told me what lay before me if I stayed on the Dark Lord’s path. He took me under his wing, as it were. He made me understand why he fought against the rising darkness. He became more of a father to me than mine ever was,” his throat tightened up. He hadn’t known those words were going to come out of his mouth until the moment they emerged.

“What did you do in the war?” Harry asked. He was leaning forward, intensely focused on Draco’s’ face.

“I pledged my loyalty to Severus to protect myself against Voldemort,” Draco touched his arm where the mark lay hidden. “And then I returned to Voldemort to stand by his side.”

“Why?” Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“To send word of the Death Eaters’ activities back to Minerva, so Severus wouldn’t have to risk it himself. He was too close to Voldemort for that kind of deception,” Draco said. “You could say I was the wizarding world’s most miserable spy,” he smiled sadly.

“I didn’t know,” Harry lowered his head. “I thought you were one of them.”

“Everyone does,” Draco said. “But sometimes that’s the price you pay to right your wrongs.”

“You couldn’t tell anyone?”

“I couldn’t risk anyone finding out,” Draco said.

Harry sat up, his eyes shining. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank Minerva,” Draco smiled weakly. “I would have taken it to my grave.”

Harry laid back and leaned his head to the side as though he were resting on Draco’s shoulder again. He stroked his hand over Draco’s arm with the soothing hint of warm, faint pressure that Draco had come to associate with his touch. Draco laid his head back and listened to the fire crackle, and let the warmth of Harry’s insubstantial touch wash over him. He closed his eyes and before he knew it, he was asleep.

_Draco was in the corridor again. He turned immediately and spotted Harry standing behind him, looking a bit surprised._

_“I didn’t know you were falling asleep,” he laughed._

_“I didn’t either.”_

_“Come here,” Harry seized Draco by the arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. Draco swept him up in his arms and held him close as their tongues pushed desperately against each other._

_“I feel like we have so little time,” Draco gasped, his hands raking down Harry’s back. He looked hungrily into Harry’s eyes and his mouth watered._

_“We need a bed,” Harry said. “It’s your dream.”_

_“Bed, over there,’ Draco pointed and one of the stone walls pushed back to reveal a luxuriously appointed bedroom._

_“Hurry, you might wake up” Harry drew Draco into the room and pulled him down onto the mattress._

_They tore at each other’s clothes, stripping down until they were both naked. Draco’s head swam as he realized what they were rushing towards. He pressed Harry into the sheets and kissed his way down his chest and across his stomach._

_“Merlin, I want you so badly,” Harry groaned as Draco kissed his hips._

_“You smell so good,” Draco ran the tip of his nose up the centerline of Harry’s abdomen. He flicked his tongue across one of Harry’s nipples, eliciting another groan from the other boy. “You feel so real,” he worked his way back up to Harry’s neck._

_“Kiss me,” Harry whispered, drawing Draco’s face to his. Draco obeyed, pressing deeper and deeper. He sucked Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and held it, listening to his ragged breath._

_Their hands collided, each stroking the other’s knob with eager pulls. Draco slid his hands down between Harry’s legs and ran the tip of his finger over Harry’s entrance. Harry nodded desperately and pulled Draco down to kiss him again. Draco entered and worked gently, patiently, as the muscles slowly relaxed and yielded. Finally he shifted his hips and pressed forward, entering Harry firmly._

_“Yes,” Harry breathed, clutching Draco’s back. “Please,” he begged._

_Draco moved slowly at first, then faster as the other boy begged for more. He tugged Harry’s member, every ounce of his focus on bringing Harry to climax. He thrust with long, confident strokes and dipped down to kiss Harry again and again, his face flushed and sweating, his own climax building inside._

_Harry suddenly arched his back and cried out. “Yes!” he shouted, his hands clawing at Draco’s back as Draco came hard. They bucked and thrust, their bodies colliding with delicious agony._

_The thrall slowly passed, and the convulsions slowed. Draco kissed Harry tenderly and brushed his hair back from his forehead as he slipped free. They curled up together and Harry nestled under Draco’s chin. Draco held him tightly and buried his nose in Harry’s hair. He wanted to carry the scent of the boy, the feel of him in his arms, into the waking world._

_“I need to get you back,” he murmured. “I need you like this, not just when I’m asleep.”_

_“I need this, too,” Harry said, stroking his hand across Draco’s chest. “I’ve always liked you,” he said. “Even when I hated you.”_

_“Me too,” Draco said. “Especially when I knew I wasn’t really the person you hated anymore.” His emotional defenses were down again, impossible to guard his words when asleep. “And when I thought you were dead, I thought I would never get the chance to show you otherwise.”_

_“We’ll figure something out,” Harry raised his head and stroked his hand through Draco’s blond hair._

_“When I get you back where you belong,” Draco said. “I’ll be sure never to let you go.”_

_“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry smiled and kissed him again._

Draco awoke just before supper, sprawled and disoriented on the sofa. Harry was curled up on top of him, his eyes closed as though asleep, too. Draco laid still for a moment and studied their reflection. He could feel nearly nothing of the boy, less than a feather’s weight. His eyes welled up involuntarily as he wondered whether he would ever have him here in the waking world.

He heaved a shuddery sigh and wiped his eyes. Harry lifted his head in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

"I'm fine," Draco steadied his voice. He struggled with a sincerity that came so unfamiliarly to him. It twisted in his throat and tried to become sarcastic and sharp. He clenched his jaw and fought to say what he felt with no defensiveness. "I need you here," he said roughly. "I just need you." Tears welled up behind his eyes. "To be with me," he added.

"I want that, too," Harry sounded optimistic. "Hopefully it won't be too much longer."

They sat for a few more minutes and then headed up to the Great Hall for supper. Granger and Weasley were already there, huddled together at the Gryffindor table, Weasley's hand absentmindedly stroking Granger's hair affectionately.

Draco sat at the Slytherin table with the mirror at his side. A murmur spread throughout the room as the other students who had stayed on wondered what he was doing with it.

"Hey Malfoy," Weasley called. "You should let him sit at his own table."

"He's a bleeding idiot. You know that, right?" Draco asked Harry's reflection.

"He still doesn't understand it, give him a break," Harry gently chided.

"Weasley, he's not the mirror. He doesn't live in the mirror," Draco said witheringly over his shoulder. "He's free to go wherever he wants."

"Then tell him to come sit with his mates," Weasley said sharply.

"He can hear you, you utter berk," Draco said.

Harry stood and went to the Gryffindor table and Draco lazily tilted the mirror so Weasley and Granger could see. Harry sat beside Ron and touched his shoulder.

"Hey, I can feel that!" Weasley grinned. "That's better than nothing."

"We can't talk to him, though," Granger said. "Malfoy, could you--"

"You're welcome to move to the Slytherin table if you need my assistance," Draco said with a smirk. He leaned on his elbows over his plate, fingers laced together casually as though he were in no hurry.

"You should move to our table," Weasley said petulantly.

Draco said nothing. He lifted his goblet and drank deeply to cover a laugh. Of course he would move if Harry asked him to, but until then he felt he had a right to needle Weasley in return for his bullheaded assumptions earlier.

"You're terrible," Harry appeared at his elbow and sat down again. "Tell them to come over here," he turned and waved his friends over.

"Come on, little Gryffindors," Draco said lightly.

Weasley and Granger came around and sat grumpily across the table. It took some effort to get the mirror positioned in a way that would show Harry's reflection well enough for conversation. Beneath the table Draco felt the warm mist of Harry's hand slip over the top of his.

They prattled endlessly about Christmas Eve with the Weasley clan, and gossiped about innumerable ginger brothers whose names Draco couldn't keep track of. Harry pantomimed as many of his reactions as he could and Draco translated anything that defied gestures.

"Where are Professors McGonagall, Trelawney and Flitwick?" Harry asked via Draco.

"Still in the library," Granger said. "They're working very hard."

"When we're done here we should go up and relieve them," Draco said. "Minerva will work herself to exhaustion if we don't."

"Oh come off it," Weasley sneered. "Acting so high and mighty because you're on a first name basis with the Headmistress."

"Is that what you think?" Draco sneered in return. "You think I'm just showing off?"

"Now hang on," Harry said. Nobody looked at him.

"That's exactly what you're doing," Weasley said. "Or your name isn't Draco Malfoy."

"Hey!" Harry waved his hands frantically to draw their attention. "Stop!"

"You know fuck all about it. You know about as much about it as your sodding parents know about effective birth control," Draco tossed his fork down and stood to leave.

"Draco," Harry grasped Malfoy's arm to try to stop him. Draco scowled at him, a rebuke frozen on his tongue.

"Just wait a minute," Harry cupped his face in his hands. Draco felt the invisible warmth and gazed past it to the mirror's reflection. He saw Harry from the back and wished he could see his face instead. He knew Harry was trying to make eye contact.

Granger and Weasley were also staring at the reflection, stunned into silence by the intimate gesture. Draco felt his anger soften. It would be so easy to have his way, to say whatever he wanted to say to that ginger twonk and leave without anything stopping him. He could duck out of Harry's grip as easily as strolling through fog. But he wouldn't. And the fact that Harry trusted that he wouldn't meant he doubly wouldn't.

"Tell him that I need both of you to try to get along," Harry said, his voice very close and pleading.

"He wants me to tell you that we need to get along," Draco said flatly.

"That's easy for him to say," Weasley grumped.

"Nothing is easy for him right now," Draco snapped. "Especially speaking."

Weasley ducked his head guiltily.

"I don't like you either, Weasel," Draco said, "but this is the state of the world until we return Potter to his physical body. He needs everyone's support and it won't do to have his friends quarreling at every turn. So either find a way to work with me or kindly piss off."

"Malfoy," Harry groaned into his hand.

"What did he say?" Granger eyed Harry through the mirror.

"He's not terribly fond of what I just said,"

"Too right," Weasley harrumphed. "You sound just like Snape, you know that?"

"Shall we go see what our venerable professors have dug up?" Draco offered a venomous smile.

Weasley and Granger followed him out of the Great Hall, leaving a wake of stunned silence behind them. Granger walked beside the mirror as they climbed the stairs. She spoke softly to Harry, nothing he needed to respond to, just comforting thoughts and reassurances. Draco walked ahead and was first to the library doors.

"Hello?" he called to the back of the stacks. "Has anyone brought you supper?"

Professor Flitwick poked his head out from the forbidden Dark Arts section, "Good evening, Mister Malfoy," he said. "Yes, we had something brought up."

"Any luck?" Granger hovered just beyond the entrance to the gloomy bookcases, hesitant to violate school policy. "May I enter?"

"We will bring books to you," Professor Trelawney said pointedly.

They sat around a table and each thumbed through a book from the Dark Arts collection. Harry sat next to Draco and looked through his own book, with a little help turning the pages. The room was tense with concentration as they scanned the works for a clue to bring Harry back. After a while Draco felt warmth suffuse his fingers and knew Harry had slipped a hand over his. Granger cleared her throat delicately and Draco knew without looking up that she’d spotted Harry’s gesture in the mirror.

It was late when they decided collectively to call it a night and pick it up in the morning. Professor McGonagall decreed that no one should search the Dark Arts stacks without a partner, to prevent any dangerous spells from invading vulnerable minds.

Draco stood in the corridor with the mirror and faced Weasley and Granger. He could anticipate the next argument.

“It’s up to Harry where he wants to spend the night,” he said before any demands could be made.

“Well of course he’ll come to Gryffindor,” Weasley said. “That’s where he lives.”

“What do you want to do, Harry?" Granger raised a hand to quiet Weasley.

"I don't want to hurt their feelings," Harry turned to Draco, his eyes worried.

"What if you went for a little while, just to spend a little time together?" Draco asked. "I know you surely have mirrors there, in spite of what your hair suggests." he raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

“Very funny,” Harry smirked.

“I have something I need to do anyway,” he said. “I’ll be back down to Slytherin house a little later if you want to come by, Keep your hand on Granger’s shoulder so she’ll know you’re still there” He turned to Granger, “He’ll have to stick to yes and no answers. Try not to talk his ear off,” he said.

“See you later,” Harry touched his ear briefly and then turned to walk with his friends. His reflection receded with them, Weasley and Granger holding hands and Harry walking with his fingers on Granger’s shoulder.

The three Gryffindors were such a familiar sight, both contemptible and comforting at the same time. Draco wondered what would happen once Harry was restored to full health, whether they would continue holding hands and spending time together and, well, they wouldn’t be restricted to touching in dreams anymore. He felt lonely, ridiculously so since he could still hear Granger’s and Weasley’s voices echoing down the corridor. He told himself to toughen up and prepare for the possibility that Harry would no longer need him once he could be heard by everyone else.

When the trio was finally out of sight he transfigured the mirror back into a chair and left it outside of a classroom. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the staff quarters. It was late, but he suspected Professor McGonagall would not be in bed yet, knowing how her mind tended to work over a challenge. He knocked on her door and she opened it right away as though she was expecting company.

“Oh, Draco,” she looked past him down the hallway. “I thought you were Sybill.”

“Sorry,” he smiled. “May I come in? I won’t stay long.”

“Of course,” she stepped aside to allow him to enter.

He sat in a straight-backed chair as she curled up on the sofa with a blanket. The fireplace was crackling but the room still held the dank coolness that all rooms at Hogwarts acquired after a couple of unoccupied days.

“I assume Harry is with his friends,” Professor McGonagall said, peering over her glasses at him.

“They decided hand waving and nodding was a fair trade for a bit of private conversation,” Draco said ruefully.

“They’re his friends,” she smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, he’ll come back to you.”

“So you can tell?” Draco winced painfully. “It’s that obvious?”

“You boys have always been a little too interested in each other’s business,” she said. “It is less surprising than you may think that you would possess a special connection.”

“Is that the reason I’m the only one who can hear him?” he asked.

“Perhaps so,” she sighed. “Without knowing more about the spell that cursed him, it’s difficult to know anything for sure.”

Draco gazed thoughtfully into the fire for a few minutes. Professor McGonagall summoned a pot of tea and poured two cups.

“What else is on your mind, boy?” she asked firmly. “Out with it.”

“You made me show my mark today,” he said, trying not to sound resentful. “I swore to Severus that I wouldn’t reveal its nature.”

“Severus was a particularly secretive soul,” she delicately sipped her tea. “At the time it was crucial to keep it hidden, to protect both you and him. But he was unable to conceive of a time when the Dark Lord’s power would be destroyed and the war would end.”

“You don’t think there are people out there who would seek renewed vengeance if they found out?” Draco asked, gingerly touching his arm.

“There will always be people out there who will look for a reason to destroy what they disagree with,” she pointed out. “Simply being a Malfoy may be reason enough for some. Returning to Hogwarts complete your education may be reason enough for others.” She laughed bitterly, “And frankly, I would say you’re at greater risk if the mark is mistaken for a real one.”

“What about everything else?” Draco asked. “The Elder Wand?”

“That is a bit stickier,” Professor McGonagall frowned, the lines on her face deepening in the orange firelight. “I might guard that information a little more closely. If you choose to share it, choose wisely”

“We got lucky, you know,” Draco said. “It used to keep me up at night, thinking about how badly it could have gone.”

She regarded him sympathetically and didn’t speak for a few moments. “Severus always had faith in you,” she said. “Even when you had no faith in yourself.”

“I had faith in myself,” Draco snorted. “Too much, probably.”

“No, you had ego,” she chuckled. “That’s not the same thing as faith.” She set her cup down. “He was a great man, and he thought of you as a son,” she said with a faraway smile. “I’ve come to think of you that way myself, actually.”

“Does that mean I can start calling you mum?” he grinned teasingly.

“Of course not,” she feigned horror. “But you’re always willing to come talk to me whenever you need to.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “That means a lot.”

He rose and bowed. She nodded gracefully in return. He started to leave, then paused with his hand on the door. “Do you miss Severus?” he asked, his throat suddenly tight.

“I do,” Professor McGonagall said. “He became a good friend over the years, in spite of his efforts not to,” she laughed softly. “He died to protect what he knew was right. There are few people in this world who would be willing to risk that.” She looked up at him over her glasses, “You took the same risk. That’s why I see so much of him in you.”

Draco ducked his head and blinked rapidly. His eyes prickled and his throat shut. Unable to speak, he nodded and slipped out, pulling the door shut quietly behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco took a few moments in the corridor to pull himself together before heading back to Slytherin house. He let himself in and called for Harry, then reluctantly accepted that he wasn’t back yet. He went to his room and considered getting ready for bed, when a silvery shimmer caught the corner of his eye. The invisibility cloak. He picked it up and fondled it gently, wondering at the way it made his hands disappear. He slipped it over his shoulders and stood before his mirror, grinning goofily at his floating head. Then he folded it over his face and disappeared completely.

He wandered around the common room invisibly for a while, wondering what it would be like to be unseen. He exited Slytherin house, looking for other students or staff to see how it would feel not to be noticed. Before he knew it, he found himself climbing the tower stairs to Gryffindor house, and a moment later he said “Quaffle” to the Fat Lady and slipped inside.

He could hear voices coming from the Gryffindor common room. Granger and Weasley, obviously. He couldn’t hear Harry’s voice but he doubted Harry would be wasting his efforts on people who couldn’t hear him. He poked his head through the common room doorway, his heart pounding and an irrational fear telling him that they would spot him immediately. But neither Granger nor Weasley looked up at his entrance.

They were sitting around a table with a chess set in the middle. Ron was sitting across from an empty chair and a mirror was set so he could see which pieces Harry was pointing to. Granger sat between the two sides and watched.

“If only there were a way to teach you sign language quickly,” Granger mused, “Then you could speak to us in whole words. But I don’t suppose you like the idea of being this way long enough to warrant that.”

Harry shook his head no as he pointed to a piece.

“Bad move, Harry,” Weasley moved the opposing piece and immediately moved one of his own. “Check.”

“Oh no,” Granger giggled. “You aren’t going to lose again, are you?”

Harry made a comical gagging face. He studied the board and indicated another move.

“Check,” Weasley easily countered him.

Harry scowled and folded his arms across his chest. He pointed at another piece in mock anger.

“Ha!” Weasley stood up and pointed triumphantly at the chessboard. “You’ve lost, mate. You can’t move without putting yourself in check again. Lay down your king.”

Harry flung himself back in his chair as though in agony. He waved his hand at his king and pretended to weep. Weasley and Granger laughed at his pantomime.

“One more game?” Weasley asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head no and pointed at the clock on the mantle. As he looked up he caught sight of Draco, who was standing in the doorway with his arms slightly raised, clutching the invisibility cloak over his head. His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head with an amused smirk. Draco held his finger to his lips before realizing what a ridiculously unnecessary gesture it was.

“You’re really going to go?” Granger asked sadly. “You could stay with Ron and set up a mirror by the bed. So if you needed anything you could get his attention.”

Harry shook his head, “No,” he said aloud. “I’m going to Slytherin.”

“Slytherin,” Granger nodded, reading his lips. “I don’t understand, Harry. I mean I do, I know it must be hard when no one can hear you. But we’re your friends, not Draco Malfoy.”

Harry frowned and folded his arms across his chest. When she didn’t respond he enunciated, “Draco is my friend.”

“I know you think so,” she said. “But it’s probably only because you’re grateful for his help.”

Harry frowned and shook his head again.

“Think about it, Harry,” she tried to rationalize with him. “You hated each other for years. He says he wasn’t beholden to you-know-who, but he joined his followers. He may have turned his allegiance to Snape eventually, but it was just self-preservation.”

“He may have McGonagall snowed but you know what he’s like,” Weasley added. “As soon as you’re restored he’ll use it for his own glory, and when you’re no longer useful he’ll go back to the way he was.”

“No,” Harry shook his head and turned away from them.

“Harry, don’t do that,” Hermione started to reach out, then thought better of it. She took a deep breath and her next words came out in a rush, “I know you like him. I saw you holding his hand. I know you think you know him but you’re just fooling yourself. You’re drawn to him because he can hear you. But once you’re back you’ll see it doesn’t make sense.”

“Stop,” Harry turned around and held out both hands. His reflection looked back and forth at his two best friends. He beckoned for them to come closer to the mirror and pointed emphatically at his mouth. “I love him.” he said firmly. “I love him.”

“Harry, don’t say that,” Granger pleaded. “You just think you do because of this situation you’re in.”

“Good night,” Harry mouthed, then turned away and strode to the door. “Come on, you nutter,” he muttered as he passed Draco’s semi-crouched position. Draco followed quickly then hesitated at the door. Harry could walk straight through but Draco needed to open it. And if Granger and the Weasel saw the painting open, they would immediately suspect a spy.

Fortunately Granger wouldn’t take no for an answer. She darted to the door and pushed the painting open. “Harry!” she called, holding her mirror and angling it to sweep the tower. Draco slipped past her and ran as quickly as he could down the stairs.

At the bottom landing he took off at a full run, worried that he would be accused of interfering with Harry’s judgement if they realized he was there.

“You wanker,” Harry’s voice said close to his ear.

“I thought I would see what it was like to be invisible,” Draco said weakly.

“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” Harry asked.

“It was a thrill a minute,” Draco said. “But I forgot you would be able to see me.”

They reached the door to Slytherin house and entered quickly. Draco transfigured a chair into a mirror and smiled with relief as Harry’s reflection came into view. Harry rushed at him and threw his arms around Draco’s shoulders, pressing their mouths together.

“Fucking hell,” Harry said as the mild warm pressure spread across Draco’s face. “I need you so badly right now.”

“Well, I was thinking about heading to bed,” Draco smiled and curled his arms around the empty warm space where Harry stood.

“Go, go now,” Harry said urgently.

Draco needed no further encouragement. He went up to his room and immediately got ready for bed. He placed the mirror above them and extinguished the light. He laid on his back and looked up enviously at the image of Harry nestled up against him. He thought about how ridiculous it was to be envious of a reflection.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry said in his ear. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“How do you get inside of my head?” Draco asked, trying to relax.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said. “I lay next to you and when you start dreaming I can sort of hear an echo of it. If I concentrate on that echo, I suddenly find myself in your dream.”

“Stranger and stranger,” Draco shook his head. “Okay stop talking to me, I’m going to sleep.” Harry gestured as though zipping his lip and smiled.

_Draco wasn’t sure how long it had taken to fall asleep. One minute he had been lying in the bed with Harry, trying to find unconsciousness, and the next he was in the same old corridor he’d roamed for the past several nights. Harry was standing directly in front of him._

_Without a word, Harry lunged at him and kissed him deeply, his hands ravaging Draco’s body as though desperate. Draco reached around and slid his hands down Harry’s arse and pulled him so close that there was scarcely room to breathe. Harry raked at his hair and moaned with need as they licked and tasted._

_“If we can’t bring you back,” Draco said gruffly as Harry moved down his neck, “I’ll have someone curse me to eternal sleep.”_

_Harry chuckled, a deep throaty laugh that Draco found excruciatingly arousing. He pointed over Harry’s shoulder to a ready bedroom and Harry responded by walking him backwards to the bed. He climbed on top of Draco and without a word undressed both of them completely. He pressed his mouth and fingers everywhere they could go._

_He stroked Draco’s bollocks and voraciously drew his member into his mouth. Draco groaned and his head swam from the overwhelming sensation. Harry brought him to the brink twice, then eased him back each time. Finally he withdrew and crawled up the length of Draco’s body. He tilted his hips and sat gently on Draco’s knob, inhaling sharply as it just barely entered. He breathed slowly and eased down, bit by bit until Draco was all the way in._

_Harry leaned forward and started to move, slowly and with care. Draco grasped his knob, eliciting an approving hum from the throat of the other boy. They moved together, exploring each other and climbing slowly towards climax. Harry was fully in control, his strong thighs braced on either side of Draco’s hips as he pushed. He tipped his head back towards the ceiling and Draco reached up to stroke his fingers down his lean, muscular chest. He tugged Harry with one hand and reached with the other to grasp his hip._

_When the orgasm boiled up from deep inside, he was nearly paralyzed by the whiplash and fireworks of pure pleasure. He gasped for breath and thrust while tugging Harry and begging for him to peak. Harry cried out and thrust his hips downward, then fell forward and panted for air. He slowly raised himself and slipped free, then collapsed next to Draco on the bed. They both heaved for breath wordlessly as they sorted themselves out again and the power of speech gradually returned._

_“I think you broke my brain,” Draco croaked._

_“Me too,” Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands._

_“If real world sex is half as good as that, I’m never going to let you go,” Draco rolled his head lazily to the side and smirked._

_“Half? I’ll bet it’s just as good as that,” Harry said._

_“Then I’m never going to let you go,” Draco said simply. “What do you think of that?”_

_“You heard what I said to Hermione and Ron,” Harry said softly._

_“Remind me.”_

_Harry rolled into Draco’s arms and kissed him deeply. He withdrew just enough for their lips to brush when he spoke. “I love you,” he murmured._

_“I love you, too,” Draco said in return. His heart pounded, had he just said that out loud? Bollocks, it was impossible to keep anything to himself when he was asleep._

_“I think somehow,” Harry said slowly, “we’re supposed to be together. Like this was meant to happen.”_

_“Maybe it was,” Draco brushed Harry’s messy black forelock back from his face. “Maybe that’s why I can hear you.”_

_“You think so?” Harry pushed himself up on his elbow._

_“I think it’s a distinct possibility,’ Draco trailed his fingers down Harry’s arm, raising goosebumps along his skin._

_“Did you have feelings for me before?” Harry wondered, leaning greedily into Draco’s touch._

_“I’ve always had feelings for you,” Draco cursed his honesty again._

_Harry grinned and leaned in for another kiss. They laid quietly together and touched sensually, pressing fingers into soft skin and getting to know the curve and line of each and every muscle. Draco caressed Harry’s neck and ran his fingertips down the edge of his collarbone. He knew their time was short. Sleep could only last so long and then they would return to the waking world and many long hours without touching. Finally he sat up and drew Harry with him._

_“I have something I want you to see,” he said._

_“Now?” Harry asked._

_“Yes, before I wake up.”_

_They dressed quickly and Draco led Harry back to the dream corridor. They walked side by side to the end where a door awaited. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and steeled himself. Then he pushed it open and they entered his memory._

_Visions swirled, images flashed and a stone passageway with high arched windows came into focus as it swung into view. A memory crystallized before them._

Draco was late. Professor McGonagall had summoned him to her office but he had been waylaid by Professor Slughorn on his way to meet with her. He glanced furtively over his shoulder and hoped no one would see him rushing and think he was up to no good. He pressed his hand over his Dark Mark and worried that the Dark Lord could see his thoughts. He had to hurry.

He burst into Professor McGonagall’s office without knocking and closed it behind him. Professor Snape looked up from the parchment they were studying together and he regarded Draco with a note of disapproval.

“Tardy for your own salvation, Draco?” he asked coolly.

“I’m sorry,” Draco tried not to choke on the apology. He was trying, he really was. But it was hard to undo old habits.

“Are you ready, Minerva?” Professor Snape asked Professor McGonagall with an expression that approached warmth. She smiled in return and gestured for him to start.

Draco laid on the floor and braced himself. The incantation was endless. Snape’s and McGonagall’s voices rose in unison as they intoned the elaborate spell. The lines on Draco’s arm moved slowly, agonizingly painful as they shifted and severed his connection with the Dark Lord. He bit down on a wooden stick and tried not to scream as pain lanced through his flesh. It seemed to go on for hours, maybe days or weeks for all he knew. He wanted to stop, and he might have begged them if not for the fact that his jaw was clenched and immobile.

Finally the pain ceased and his vision swam before his eyes. The next thing he knew Professor McGonagall was sitting with him on the floor with his head in her lap as she brushed his hair back and shushed him maternally. Snape gazed down at him with unconcealed pride on his face. He nodded curtly and then turned back to the parchments on the desk. Draco’s heart swelled. That small show of approval from his mentor was a huge compliment.

_The scene whirled and spun again, and several images flashed before Draco’s and Harry’s eyes. Then another memory coalesced and settled before them._

Draco was standing at the edge of a clearing deep within the Forbidden Forest. A black cloak surrounded him and covered his face to conceal his identity. Another robed figure stood a short distance away, and from beneath the cowl a familiar voice was speaking.

“You are its master now,” Professor McGonagall said in a hushed tone. “It cannot fall to Voldemort’s control. The Elder Wand could be powerful enough in his hands to make him undefeatable.”

“I don’t have it,” Draco said beneath his breath. “It fell somewhere in the Astronomy tower.”

“We know where it is,” Professor McGonagall reassured him. “But Sybill has seen a vision that Voldemort will possess it soon. However, as long as it is in your control he will not be able to wield its full power.”

“How can I stop him from finding it?” Draco asked, his voice tense.

“You cannot,” Professor McGonagall said. “But do not relinquish your wand to him. If he gains control of your wand, he will control the Elder Wand, too.”

_The scene whirled again and they saw flashes of Draco sneaking away to deliver information to McGonagall, meeting in back alleys of Hogsmeade, and terrible, frightful scenes of people enduring horrific tortures at the hands of the Death Eaters that surrounded him. The palpable sense of fear weighed heavily on them as the next memory crystallized._

“I will not survive the war, Draco,” Professor Snape said in an icy tone. “You must ensure that Voldemort’s army has no chance to capture or kill Harry Potter. I won’t be there to help you. You must carry this commitment forward without me.”

_The scenes where whirling faster now. A glimpse of Draco cowering in a dark closet as his body was wracked with grief over Snape’s death. A flash of Draco vomiting after witnessing the slaughter of Professor Burbage. A recollection of Draco kneeling before Harry’s cursed and mangled face, stalling and pretending to mistake his identity. Then another memory coalesced._

“If Harry tries to disarm you, he must succeed,” Professor McGonagall whispered in a risky meeting above the Three Broomsticks. “You must not give it to him willingly, he must disarm you without you relinquishing it.”

“How in bloody blazes can I pull that off?” Draco demanded.

“If it comes to battle, put yourself in his way,” McGonagall suggested. “Force him to take you on first.”

“What if I defeat him?” Draco asked.

McGonagall smiled, “You won’t.”

“Bollocks,” Draco spat. “You’re asking for the impossible.”

“It’s the only way to transfer ownership of the Elder Wand to Harry,” she insisted. “Sybill saw it clearly, he must control it if he is to succeed.”

_A flash of a struggle between Draco and Harry, with Harry successfully wrenching the wand from the other boy’s hand. Another glimpse of Draco standing beneath the night sky, sorrowfully touching his altered Dark Mark, glancing fearfully over his shoulder as the Death Eaters inside of the mansion ranted and raved. A startlingly clear memory swung into view, the Battle of Hogwarts as Voldemort beckoned Draco to his side. Draco knew he had no choice and crossed the courtyard to stand with the Dark Lord, his heart heavy with the double-life that he had sworn to lead. Finally, a series of visions of Draco testifying privately to the Ministry and being served an acquittal for his efforts to undermine Voldemort’s rise to power._

_The swirl of memories faded and left Draco and Harry feeling drained. Harry’s eyes were red and he seemed unable to voice his thoughts. He turned to Draco and searched his face, his expression drawn and distressed. He wrapped his arms around him, squeezing so hard that Draco thought he would never be able to breathe again._


	12. Chapter 12

Draco opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling blearily. He stretched and yawned and accidentally thrust his arm through Harry's head.

"Watch it," Harry grumped. He stood and crossed to the window.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked.

"Another day in exile," Harry said shortly. He ducked his head guiltily and frowned. "Sorry, you stopped dreaming hours ago and I've just been laying here, thinking, waiting for you to wake up."

"I'm sure everyone is already in the library looking for answers," Draco said. "And I'll go to Borgin and Burkes today and get my father's books back," he said less confidently.

"You don't sound like you think that's possible."

"It's not going to be easy," Draco said honestly.

"Maybe Hermione can help think of a way," Harry suggested. "Get showered and lets go ask her."

Draco cleaned up, shaved and dressed quickly. He wore a black double-breasted ankle-length military coat with six rows of bright brass buttons and squared shoulders. It was perfectly tailored to fit his lithe silhouette and had a hard, authoritarian feel. He stepped into exquisitely expensive black leather shoes and knew the craftsmanship would not go unnoticed by the shop's sharp-eyed proprietors. He needed to show wealth and power, to make his birthright clear and impress upon them the value of his continuing patronage. He carefully coiffed his short hair and stood back to review his appearance. He straightened his posture and put on a severe expression before exiting his room.

He towed the mirror along beside him and caught sight of Harry as he entered the common room. The other boy's jaw dropped and he said nothing for a moment. Not breaking character, Draco raised an eyebrow commandingly and tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Something on your mind, Mister Potter?" he asked haughtily.

"You sound like Snape," Harry shook his head in wonder. "You look amazing," he breathed.

"Dealing with Borgin and Burkes won't be easy," Draco said. "They'd rather keep my property and sell it than hand it over to me." He checked his pocket watch for the time. "They've offered to sell the items on consignment and split the purchase price with me, but I can't allow them to do that."

"How can they get away with that?" Harry asked.

Draco cleared his throat and rolled his eyes skyward. "Some of the collection is rather controversial," he said. "Illegal, you might say. In the current post-war environment, with my reputation, it would be extremely risky to let word get out that I have them in my possession and that I’m trying to transport them."

"Even with the Ministry's record of your efforts during the war?"

"Sealed records," Draco waved the mirror along and headed up to breakfast. "Besides, how would they get away with letting me off the hook for this without revealing that?"

"Are you expecting to intimidate them into giving you your books back?" Harry asked dubiously. "They don't seem like the types who could be intimidated easily."

"To be honest I don't have a terrific plan," Draco admitted as he sat at the Slytherin table and served himself. Granger and Weasley looked up from the Gryffindor table and joined him without complaint.

"You need some kind of plan, don't you?" Harry asked.

"Ideally, yes," Draco said, ignoring the pair of Gryffindors on the other side of the table. "In fact, that was what I was trying to come up with the other night, when you so rudely interrupted me by proving you exist with your god-awful singing."

"What are you talking about?" Granger finally asked.

"I tried to secretly transport my father's collection of Dark Arts books to Hogwarts," Draco said with an air of fatigue, "but they've been taken hostage by the proprietors of Borgin and Burkes, who wish to sell them for their own profit."

"Nasty shop, that," Weasley grimaced. "How are you going to get them back?"

"That's what we were discussing," Draco sipped his tea and frowned. "They have made clear their intention to claim it as abandoned property, and they know I'd rather not have my ownership of that sort of material be made public. They have the advantage."

"You could offer to buy them--" Granger began.

"No good," Draco shook his head. "I already offered to pay. They're more interested in using the sale of these books to build their reputation and customer base." He sighed, "Even if there's nothing in them that can help Potter, we can't let those books fall into the wrong hands. Many of them contain very dark, very dangerous spells."

"If money won't work on them, what will?" Granger asked. Draco appreciated how focused her mind was.

"Power," he said bluntly. "They value rarity and power, which is why they're willing to deal with the kind of wizards who shop their inventory."

"Can't you expose them?" Weasley suggested. "You're worried that they would make your collection public. What if you threatened to do the same? Share their worst secrets."

"They don't keep their darkest items on display, of course," Draco said. "They keep them in the back, concealed with a spell that renders them invisible to onlookers. It’s impossible to know what they have unless they choose to show it to you."

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully. "The invisibility cloak doesn't work on me. And I can't see ghosts." He shrugged, "Maybe I could see through their charms. If they have anything truly illegal you could use it for leverage."

Draco stared at him for a moment. "That's actually brilliant, Potter," he said. He relayed the idea to Granger and Weasley, who agreed that it sounded smart.

"If not, maybe I can find where they're holding your father's books and you can just Incendio the whole lot of them," Harry added. "You know, to keep them from ending up in the wrong hands."

Draco stood and straightened his impressive jacket. "Granger, would you please let the staff know that Harry is accompanying me to Hogsmeade today?"

"You're not going to Hogsmeade," Weasley pointed out.

"How do you think they'll react if you tell them we're going to Knockturn Alley?" Draco smiled wryly. Not sharp enough, he thought. He composed himself and restored his more familiar sneer.

"Bloody hell. Look at you, Malfoy," Weasley said. "I don't think you're going to have any problems getting what you want. You'd scare the pants off of me," he said.

"I didn't know you swung that way, Weasley," Draco quipped. "Let's go, Potter," He released the mirror and strode from the Great Hall with determination.

Diagon Alley was a winter wonderland, decked out merrily for Boxing Day shoppers. Draco stepped out of the hired rapid-travel coach and eyed the crowd ahead. They had tried to use the Floo network, but Harry's resistance to magic had thwarted their attempt. Although the coach moved at lightning fast speeds, the trip had still taken hours and he worried that they might be too late to save the entire collection. He hoped evil slept late.

Familiar with the kind of attention he tended to attract, partly due to name, partly due to appearance, he smoothed his expression over and regarded well wishers with a posh, detached nod. Shopkeepers called his name as he passed through the crowd, trying to lure in his money. He strolled with his hands clasped behind his back and let the hubbub wash over and around them as though he were above it all.

Harry kept a running commentary going, rambling about whatever came to mind in order to ensure that they didn't get separated. Draco thought wistfully about walking the holiday shops with a solid and fully visible Harry by his side and decided they would come back for a visit if they restored him before New Year's Day.

They came to the fork in the road that divided Diagon Alley from Knockturn Alley. The darker side bore no merry decorations and relatively few shoppers.

"Ready?" Draco asked under his breath.

"Right," Harry said, halting his prattle. "You speak to them at the counter and I'll go in back and look for the books or something incriminating."

"Keep talking to me while you're back there," Draco murmured, checking around to see if anyone was watching him talk to himself. "That's my biggest worry, that something will happen and I won't be able to find you."

"The emergency word will be Quaffle," Harry offered. "Say it if we need to get out fast."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary." Draco set his mouth in a grim line and set off. Most Knockturn Alley shops had private Floos so patrons could come and go with subtlety. But Draco was familiar with every mode of arrival at Borgin and Burkes, having developed more than a passing familiarity with the shop. He paused at the door and steeled himself before entering.

He pushed through the door and set off a clatter of small bones suspended above the entrance. Everything from the dank, musty smell to the light-repelling dimness elicited a feeling of revulsion. He didn't like remembering the things he had done here, back before Severus Snape had offered him an escape from the dark path. At times like these, when the memories of what he had done were palpable, he wondered if he could ever be redeemed.

"Master Malfoy!" Mr. Burkes emerged from the back room with a look of surprise. His hands twitched as he gestured graciously for Draco to approach.

"Speak," Draco hissed under his breath.

"I'm here," Harry said softly. "I haven't been in here in a long time. I don't like it."

"How can I help you today?" Mr. Burkes leered, the closest approximation of a smile he could manage.

"You know why I'm here," Draco said coldly. He had learned negotiation from his father, and rule number one was to avoid showing emotion.

"I'm going into the back room," Harry said. "I'll try to yell a bit so you'll know I'm still here."

"Ah yes," Mr. Burkes nodded. "The matter of your abandoned--"

"If you use the word abandoned with me this conversation will become significantly less civil," Draco said harshly without raising his voice.

"But sir," Mr. Burkes spread his hands helplessly. "How else are we to regard the property that you left on our doorstep."

"You mean the property I entrusted to you to hold and forward according to my instructions," Draco corrected him.

"There's some pretty bad stuff back here," Harry shouted. "I see a crate with your name on it. It's been opened."

"Have you sold any of my books yet?" Draco asked darkly.

"Master Malfoy," Mr. Burkes was anxious, as he ought to be. Draco was taller than him by several inches, he had the bearing and wealth of his family, and he was a known Death Eater from a family that had so strongly supported the Dark Lord Voldemort that they were the first on trial, the first convicted, and the first sentenced to Azkaban after the war.

"It's a simple question," Draco stood as still as stone, hands clasped behind his back, eyes unblinking and focused on the other man's face.

"Merlin, you look terrifying," Harry's voice was closer now. "I found something bad. Something very bad."

"No, sir. We have sold none of the books," Mr. Burkes said in a rush. "However, we are certain that you will agree that our services in consignment would be financially beneficial to you."

"The books are not for sale," Draco snapped.

"Then why did you send them?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Because you were concerned about what the Ministry would say if you were found transporting them," Mr. Burkes dropped his deferential air and met Draco's gaze confidently. "Would be a pity if that information was made public."

"Careful," Draco cocked his head and bared his teeth dangerously.

"Draco, listen," Harry said urgently. "They have phoenixes back there, four of them."

"I would consider what secrets you're willing to share with the Ministry before speaking of mine," Draco added.

"They're bloodletting," Harry's voice was distressed. "Borgin and Burkes is keeping them alive but siphoning off their blood," his voice choked. "Phoenixes are a protected species. It's an unforgivable sin to use their blood."

"A little birdy told me about some special ingredients I can get here," Draco's smile widened poisonously. "Phoenix blood, very fresh."

Mr. Burkes' eyes narrowed, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"They're in cages lined up beneath the workbench," Harry added.

"Although I suspect it's tainted," Draco added. "The phoenix is a sun creature, needs daylight to thrive. I can't imagine much light reaches the recesses beneath your workbench."

Mr. Burkes froze, his eyes calculating.

"What is amazing to me," Draco said casually. "Is how risky an endeavor that is. If word got out somehow, you would not only have the Ministry on you for defiling a protected species, but I suspect you might have several unhappy customers who realized they were sold a blemished product."

"Ron is right, you’re scaring the pants off of me," Harry said, his voice laced with admiration.

"But enough about that," Draco's smile turned genteel. "Back to the matter of my books." He withdrew a velvet satchel and tossed it onto the counter. It landed with the bright metal clink of many coins. "Please accept this as a show of appreciation for guarding my valuable property. I do hope you will find this amount acceptable."

Mr. Burkes' eyes greedily flicked to the bag.

"Go ahead," Draco nodded graciously.

"How much did you give him?" Harry was close now. "Oh right, you can't answer."

The proprietor counted out stacks of Galleons and took a startled step backward. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Very acceptable," he said. "Very generous."

"Merlin, Malfoy!" Harry gasped. "That's a fortune!"

Draco came to a sudden decision, "That price includes the purchase of the phoenixes. If you would be so kind as to fetch my belongings.”

"But sir!" Mr. Burkes looked horrified.

"If you would, please keep their cage camouflaged," Draco said. "They're coming with me."

"Draco," Harry sounded astonished.

"Master Malfoy," the shopkeeper began reasonably.

"Or is there anything else in the back that you'd like to discuss?" Draco raised an eyebrow and struck an uncompromising tone.

"No, sir," Mr. Burkes blanched and ducked behind the curtain into the storeroom.

"I'll go with him and make sure he doesn't do anything funny," Harry said as the shopkeeper went into the back. A moment later he called, "He's keeping a book. It’s called _Toxic Draughts, Doses and Drams_."

"Mister Burkes," Draco called casually. "Please return the toxins manual to the crate."

"Oh that made him panic," Harry called. "He's looking around for a spy. He just walked straight through me."

"Coming, Mister Burkes?" Draco called. He poked his head through the curtain into the back room.

The shopkeeper whirled around with a taut smile and patted his hand on the large crate. "Just sealing it up, Master Malfoy."

"Mind the birds," Draco ordered.

The shopkeeper sealed the box and then hefted an awkwardly shaped object that was completely invisible to Draco. He dropped it on top of the book crate with a strained grunt.

"A pleasure doing business with you," Draco said coldly. "Shall I assume this is where we part ways?" He cast a levitation spell on the heavy load and towed it to the front of the store. It bobbled heavily around the glass display cases.

"Master Malfoy," Mr. Burkes followed him with wringing hands. "Your family has always been welcome in our shop, we appreciate your patronage."

"If you appreciate my patronage you shouldn't cross me," Malfoy snapped angrily, true emotion finally showing. He struggled to pull himself together. If Severus had taught him anything, it was that losing one's temper always put one at a disadvantage.

"We should get out of here," Harry said nervously. "He's trying to draw you back in."

"Good day, Mister Burkes," Draco bowed respectfully. "Please extend my greetings to Mister Borgin."

"Good day, Master Malfoy," the shopkeeper's eyes darkened.

Draco departed without another word. Harry stood outside of the shop while Draco navigated the heavy crate through the doorway, calling directions as the wide load shimmied by. They slowly made their way up to the entrance of Knockturn Alley and rejoined the throng of holiday shoppers. People dodged aside as he strode commandingly up the walk with the crate floating along behind.

"I get the feeling they would jump like that even if you weren't towing that thing," Harry said with wonder in his voice. Draco tried not to smirk. It wouldn't do to create a mixed impression.


	13. Chapter 13

Draco had paid the hired rapid-travel carriage to wait for them, an expense he was very much glad to pay for now that they had a heavy load to transport. The respectable widely-known mode of transit made them less likely to be stopped by inquisitive representatives of the Ministry and their cargo discovered. Of course, it was a possibility, and if they were stopped he would have a lot of explaining to do. Nothing to be done for it now, they just had to hope their transportation of illicit goods would go unnoticed.

The driver hoisted the crates into the back as Draco climbed in with his invisible companion. The open compartment meant they couldn't speak, so they sat in silence with the warmth of Harry's hands entwined around Draco's. He transfigured a Galleon coin into a mirror and held it before them, and finally the smile he had spent all day trying to suppress made its way to the surface.

"You're amazing," Harry said, peering affectionately at him from the mirror. "You probably saved those phoenixes."

Draco nodded and smiled again. If he had been on his own he might have just left them. But something in Harry's voice, the utter horror at their condition told him he couldn't walk away.

It was a long ride home, even with the carriage’s accelerated speed, and the afternoon sun had moved far to the west by the time they arrived at the front steps of the school. Draco climbed out and settled with the driver, then levitated the crates up to the entrance.

"You're back!" Hermione came bolting through the front door without a coat. Her fur-lined boots flopped around her ankles as she clattered down the steps. Weasley and Hagrid followed quickly behind.

"Mind the ice, Granger," Draco caught her elbow as she slipped off balance.

"Where's Harry? Is he with you?" she demanded as she struggled to regain her footing.

"I'm here," Harry said near Draco's ear.

"Oh, I feel that," she reached her arm out and swiped gently.

"Don't paw at him," Draco said as the carriage pulled away. "That's my job," he said under his breath.

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"Nothing," he arched an eyebrow at her challengingly. Harry snickered.

He nudged the crates through the double doors and deposited them in the grand foyer. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Slughorn were descending the stairs to greet them.

"Is this your father's book collection?" Professor McGonagall called as they crossed the cavernous entryway.

"It is. However, before we can open the crate we need to address another matter," Draco explained the hidden Phoenix cage and how the birds had been drained by the proprietors of Borgin and Burkes. Professor Slughorn thought for a moment, then cast a guttural sounding spell that lifted the invisibility camouflage, making the cage visible to all.

They gasped collectively as they got their first glimpse of the condition of the birds. They were small, weak, and listless. Their red feathers were dingy and browned, and they showed virtually no gold tips. Hagrid dropped to his knees and wrenched the door of the cage off of its hinges. He was audibly distraught, but his enormous hands were gentle as he lifted each phoenix free of the filthy enclosure. They had small needles capped with tiny glass jars protruding from their legs, each containing a few drops of blood.

"Hagrid, can you save them?" Harry's voice was distressed.

"Harry wants to know if you can save them," Draco's own voice was rough. He felt the warmth of Harry’s hand clutching his.

“I’ll try me best, Harry,” Hagrid looked up at Draco. He could fit all four in his cupped hands. “They were prob’ly not much past their burnin’ day when they were taken,” he peeked at them closely, then rose to his feet and tucked them into the folds of his jacket to keep them warm. Lost in his concern for the weakened animals, he departed without another word.

With the phoenix cage removed from the crate, they were now able to unlatch it and peer at the collection of books within. The staff crowded around it, picking up a title here and there, and clucking their tongues with concern at a few. They agreed to tackle the collection systematically and transported the entire load upstairs to the library.

“How was the trip?” Granger asked Draco as they climbed the stairs behind their teachers.

“I couldn’t have done it without Harry,” he said honestly.

“It’s lucky this happened to me so I could help,” Harry said.

“I wouldn’t have been in that situation if this hadn’t happened to you, you git,” Draco said. “Yes you were the only one who could help, but if this hadn’t happened to you, I wouldn't have needed help in the first place.”

“Good point,” Weasley said.

They pushed their way into the library and helped the staff sort the books. They made piles by category: potions on one table, curses on another, spirits and haunts on a third, and so on. Draco sat down with a book on spirits while Granger thumbed through a book on curses.

“Be very careful,” Professor McGonagall instructed everyone. “Powerful dark magic can reach off of the page and take hold of you.”

“The language in this book is so old that I can hardly read it,” Weasley gawped at a page full of tiny handwritten passages.

“Let me have a look,” Professor Slughorn removed it from his grasp and deposited a different one in its place.

They read quietly for hours, depositing completed ones back in the crate. Every now and then someone shuddered or sat up as though startled. Everyone’s faces became more drawn and strained as they went. Dark magic had a way of inspiring fright, even in written form.

Their supper was brought up on carts and they ate as they read, careful not to stain the parchment. Draco turned pages for Harry so they could each peruse a book simultaneously. Draco was exhausted from the day’s stress and found his mind wandering. He wondered if Hagrid would be able to save the phoenixes. He wondered if he and Harry could visit them in the morning.

_He wasn’t aware that he had fallen asleep until he realized that he was in the familiar corridor with Harry standing before him. Harry smirked and wagged his finger._

_“Watch yourself,” he said. “You’re still in the library. Not terribly private.”_

_“Private enough,” Draco reached out and snagged Harry’s wrist. He pulled the other boy in and kissed him gently. Harry kissed him back, his hands sliding around his back. They kissed slowly, without the urgency of speed this time. Draco worked his way up Harry’s jaw to his ear, then buried his nose in his hair. “The smell of you drives me mad,” he said, running the tip of his nose along the very edge of Harry’s earlobe._

_“I hope you’re not lying on one of your father’s books making kissy faces,” Harry tried to joke but his voice was distracted and rough with desire._

_“If I am, I’m sure someone will wake me,” Draco said between kisses as he drew Harry’s collar back and worked his way across his collar bones. “I need to touch you more than I need my dignity.”_

_“You say that now but,” Harry whimpered, unable to complete his thought._

“--Should go lie down,” Granger was touching his shoulder. Draco’s eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly in his chair.

“What happened?” he said thickly, his brain still struggling to wake up.

“You fell asleep,” Harry and Granger said at the same time.

“I’m tired,” he sighed. “What time is it?”

“Past midnight,” Professor McGonagall said wearily. “I think we’d all best get some rest so we can start again in the morning.”

Everyone grumbled agreement and slowly got to their feet. Madam Pince locked and warded the library doors behind her so no one could access the unsecured dark books while they were away. Granger and Weasley didn’t even ask Harry where he would be staying. They bid him and Draco goodnight and headed for Gryffindor tower.

“I think we should take it easy tonight,” Harry said. “I think being active in your dreams means you’re not getting good rest.”

“But it’s the only time we get to be together,” Draco was nakedly disappointed.

“There will be lots of opportunities for that,” Harry reassured him. “Tonight I think you need real sleep.”

They entered Slytherin house and Harry curled up with Draco on the bed. As he began to drift off he felt the warmth recede and Harry whispered goodnight from the doorway. He felt glum, but realized Harry was probably right. He fell into a deep, dreamless slumber and didn’t roll over even once all night.


	14. Chapter 14

“Draco. Wake up.”

A warm pressure on Draco’s face and the sound of his name broke through the dark veil of sleep. He cracked one eye open and saw that it was morning. He rubbed his face and propped himself up on his elbow, then reached for the wand that was always within reach. He transfigured his desk chair into a mirror and tipped it until he could see Harry sitting at the foot of the bed.

“How long was I asleep?” he croaked.

“It’s almost ten,” Harry said. “You needed it, though.”

Draco sat up and reached his hand out so his reflection was touching Harry’s head. “Maybe I did,” he said, “but I missed you anyway.”

“Go shower,” Harry said. “I want to go down to Hagrid’s place and see if the phoenixes are okay.”

Draco remembered the birds and hopped out of bed. He showered and dressed without fanfare, selecting from his predominantly black wardrobe and settling on a finely knit cashmere jumper and neatly tailored slacks. He combed his fair hair into place and grabbed his cloak from the back of the door. He and Harry and the mirror stopped by the Great Hall long enough to pocket something portable for breakfast, and then headed out into the snow.

“I hope they’re doing better,” Harry sounded concerned. “Do you think they’ll be released back into the wild?”

“I imagine so,” Draco said, watching his feet carefully as his boots shushed through the fine powder.

“Professor Dumbledore said phoenixes are notoriously hard to domesticate,” Harry mused.

“Then I imagine once they recover they’ll leave whenever they feel like it.” Draco picked his way through the mounds of snow that surrounded Hagrid’s dormant melon patch and rapped on his door. A second later it flew open and the huge man beamed down at him. He waved at Harry’s reflection in the mirror and invited them in.

“They’re doin’ better‘n I thought they would!” he boomed.

Draco and Harry drew up short and gasped. Hagrid had fashioned four perches and all four phoenixes sat proudly on them with full plumage. Their red and gold feathers had filled in and they cocked their heads inquisitively at Draco and the mirror.

“Professor Dumbledore always said that phoenixes’re remarkable creatures,” Hagrid continued. “They heal fastter’n you can imagine with a bit o’ love and caring.”

“Look at them, Draco,” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper. “They’re brilliant.”

“Amazing,” Draco breathed. He couldn’t stop staring at them. They were phenomenal, with red feathers that glowed like embers and gold tips that caught the morning light. He held a finger up to the closest bird and it chirped delicately and bumped its head against its hand.

“Prob’ly knows yeh’re the one who saved ‘em,” Hagrid said, his voice soft with admiration. “Very intelligent birds, they are.”

Suddenly the phoenix leapt from its perch and settled delicately on Draco’s arm. His eyes widened as it cooed and butted against his head with the flat of its beak. Then a second phoenix leaped from its perch and landed on Draco’s other shoulder. It, too, nuzzled him affectionately.

“Well I’ll be,” Hagrid said reverently.

Harry slowly approached the third phoenix and reached his invisible hand out as if to touch it. The bird ducked its head and leaned like it knew he was there. Harry gasped. “I can feel it!” he said hoarsely. The bird pushed its head against him again and Harry laughed in disbelief. The fourth phoenix launched itself into the air and circled the empty spot where he stood.

“Do they know he’s there?” Draco asked Hagrid.

“Looks like they do,” Hagrid grunted thoughtfully. “Remarkable creatures,” he said again. He let Draco give each one a bit of food to eat, then offered Draco a scone and a cup of tea, which he politely declined. He sat at the table while Hagrid helped himself, and Harry sat in the empty seat next to him. The two birds who had touched him perched on the back of the chair. In the mirror’s reflection it appeared as though they were sitting behind his shoulders and occasionally peeking at him.

“How do I get them to go back to their perches?” Draco asked. He had a bird on each arm and no idea how to get them off.

“Yeh don’t tell a phoenix what ter do,” Hagrid shrugged. “Yeh can ask ‘em but yeh can’t tell ‘em.”

“Would you like to go back to your perches?” Draco asked them, swiveling his head and looking each in the eye. They both butted their heads against his face.

“I think they’re wantin’ ter stay with yeh,” Hagrid chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll help yeh learn how teh care for ‘em. They’re natural hunters so feedin’ ‘em shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Do you want to come with us?” Harry asked his birds. They ducked their heads as though stroking against his cheeks, too. Harry gasped, then laughed in disbelief. “Draco, I can actually feel them!”

“He can feel them,” Draco repeated, completely stunned. “And it really looks like they can see and feel him, too.”

This seemed too important not to share with the group. Draco and Harry bid Hagrid farewell and walked back up to the school. The phoenixes took flight as soon as they were outside and wheeled gracefully against the winter clouds. Draco wondered if they had changed their minds and were leaving, but as they climbed the front steps they landed again, this time all four on Draco, two to an arm.

“Now this is just ridiculous,” Draco frowned as he awkwardly opened the door and shuffled inside with four birds perched on him.

“We need to make a home for them,” Harry said, “so they won’t feel the need to follow us around.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Draco grumbled as he climbed the stairs. “Meanwhile they’re snagging my sweater.” One of the phoenixes lifted its foot and cocked its head at a loose thread.

He pushed his way into the library and immediately all activity stopped. The staff and students stared at him, dumbfounded by the absurd sight of Draco Malfoy covered in birds.

“Tell them they can see me!” Harry said excitedly. “Bring the mirror around!”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Draco addressed the birds and pointed to a row of straight-backed chairs. The phoenixes launched off of him as one and glided gracefully to their new perches. Draco staggered from the downward force of their simultaneous leap.

“So they’re yours now?” Granger said in disbelief.

“Two of them seem to prefer Harry,” Draco said. He waved the mirror over near them so they could watch as Harry reached his hand out to stroke their feathers. Everyone murmured in surprise as the bird leaned against his hand and pushed back.

“I can feel him,” Harry said in wonder.

“Harry and the phoenixes can feel each other,” Draco said.

“Amazing,” Professor Flitwick spoke for the group.

“Have they found anything yet?” Harry asked.

“If they’d found something it probably would have been bigger news than the birds,” Draco said.

The look on the others’ faces said it all. Nothing yet. They sat and rejoined the search, and the phoenixes sat nearby, occasionally chirruping and cooing.

“Oh!” Professor Sprout suddenly sat up straight in her chair. “I think I have something!”

Everyone crowded around until Professor McGonagall ordered them back to their seats. She and Professors Slughorn and Flitwick read carefully and murmured quietly for a moment.

“Share, please,” Draco said commandingly. “Minerva, you can’t leave Harry hanging like this.”

“Mister Malfoy, you will be patient,” she said firmly, using the name she reserved only for rebukes.

“It’s an interesting spell,” Professor Slughorn mused as he hunched over the text. “It is intended to banish demons of the ancient world, if one is summoned and cannot be controlled.” He murmured and rolled the sound of the incantation around his tongue. He looked down at Professor Flitwick, “Does that sound like what Seamus Finnegan uttered?”

“Remarkably similar,” Professor Flitwick concurred.

“Demons, of course, cannot die,” Professor Slughorn continued. “So the banishment sent them to an in-between place where they would be insubstantial to the living world and therefore could cause no harm. A sort of stasis, if you will.” He shook his head disapprovingly, “Very dark magic. Very terrible things in this book.”

“So that’s great, you’ve found it,” Draco said. “How do we bring him back? Do we use a summoning spell?”

“No,” Professor McGonagall said firmly. “A demon is the last thing we need roaming the halls of Hogwarts.”

“It says the demon will be banished, all but its hooves,” Professor Flitwick continued reading. “The severing of its physical form severs its ability to wield magic so that it cannot return on its own.”

“Your shoes,” Granger said to Harry’s reflection. “That’s why your shoes were left behind!”

“I’m glad it was my shoes and not my feet,” Harry pointed to his toes. No translation was needed.

“That’s why the needle moves when he touches his shoes!” Granger jumped up from her chair. “He’s reconnecting with his severed physical self!”

“But it only moves part way,” Weasley pointed out. “And not every time.”

“Sybil,” Professor McGonagall turned to regard the frizzy-haired seer with interest. “What was that prophesy again?”

“Uh,” Professor Trelawney’s eyes bugged out as she tried to remember. “Well.”

 _“The vessel has been emptied and the eternal ichor released to dwell in the vast inbetween realm, neither here nor the other side. The vessel must be recast by the mirrored half with the hand that values no other,”_ Granger recited from a small notebook. She cocked her head sweetly, “I wrote it down.”

“That’s my girl,” Ron beamed at her.

“It sounds right,” Draco said. “If as Granger said the vessel is the body and the ichor is the soul, that spell cast Harry’s soul into a realm partway between life and death.”

“Recasting the vessel must mean reuniting him with his the part he left behind,” Granger added. “His shoes.”

“We tried that,” Harry said. “It didn’t budge the needle enough.” Draco translated for the rest of the group.

“It sounds like you can’t do it alone, Harry,” Granger said. “The prophecy says, _the vessel must be recast by the mirrored half with the hand that values no other_.”

Everyone turned to look at Draco. He stood up straight, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “Me?” he asked.

“You’re the only one who can hear him,” Weasley said.

“And you’re clearly in love with each other,” Granger said in an uncompromising tone.

“Oh!” Professor Flitwick looked back and forth between Draco and the reflection of Harry. “Of course!”

Draco felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. Not exactly the coming out party he’d imagined. Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s and smiled apologetically at him.

“The hand that values no other,” Professor Trelawney gasped. “Soulmates!”

“The soulmate is the mirrored half that can restore the soul to the body,” Professor Flitwick agreed.

“You’re mad,” Draco snapped. “I haven’t been able to restore anything. I’ve hardly been able to help him, much less bring him back.”

“What do you mean you’ve hardly helped me?” Harry asked. “You’ve done everything for me.”

“We need to experiment with those shoes,” Professor McGonagall shooed everyone out of the library. “Horace, Filius, see if you can parse the language of the spell and come up with an incantation that will reverse it.”

Professors McGonagall, Trelawney and Sprout led the way, with Draco, Granger, Weasley and the mirror following along. The phoenixes took flight as soon as they exited and perched in a row along the top of the mirror, angling their heads and regarding the group with interest. They made their way down to the Charms corridor and retrieved Harry’s abandoned trainers.

“Now show us again what you were doing the first time it happened,” Professor McGonagall instructed.

“I was holding his shoe,” Draco said, “And I was looking at the insole.” He looked up and met curious gazes all around. “His feet marked the insoles. It’s nothing unusual, but I was thinking about how unique the impression was from his feet. Not just the shape, but the pressure, all determined by the gait of his walk. It’s more than a shoe,” his voice softened. “It tells a story of who he was.”

“Who I am,” Harry corrected him. Draco looked up into the mirror and saw Harry standing beside him. “I’m still here.”

“I know you are,” Draco said weakly. “But at the time I was afraid I’d lost you.”

“Love,” Professor McGonagall said confidently to Professor Trelawney, who nodded in return.

“I was standing here,” Draco glowered at them. “And I felt warmth on my hand. That was Harry touching me,”

Harry put his hands out and overlapped Draco’s fingers and the shoe. “I was trying to touch you, not the shoes,” he said.

“He said he was touching me, not the shoes,” Draco added.

“Love,” McGonagall repeated.

“And that’s when it moved,” he said as the needle on the life-death meter hopped towards the Alive mark. “Actually, now that I think of it, every time it’s moved has been when he’s touching both me and the shoes at the same time,” he looked up at Harry. “Am I remembering that correctly?”

“You’re right,” Harry said wonderingly.

“We’re getting somewhere,” Professor McGonagall said. “If Horace and Filius can determine what the incantation should be to reverse the banishment, we might have all of the pieces to this puzzle.”

They broke for lunch and agreed they would reconvene when the professors had any news to share. Draco and Harry returned to Slytherin house with the four phoenixes and tried to convince them to stay put. They refused stubbornly and remained perched atop the mirror.

They walked back down to Hagrid’s hut to learn about caring for the birds, and to give them some time in the sun. Their plumage shone brilliantly as they soared overhead in the wintery afternoon glare, with feathers of fiery reds melting into glimmering golds.

Draco and Harry stood beneath them, as close to hand-in-hand as they ever were these days, watching the birds dip and swoop in a display of aerial gymnastics that was like nothing they’d ever seen before. Harry told Draco about Professor Dumbledore’s beloved Fawkes, about the loyalty between the man and his bird, and about the special properties of their tears, feathers and song. His reflection beamed at the lovely creatures, completely transfixed by the flashing colors and movement.

“We’ll need to name them,” Draco said. “And figure out how to tell them apart.”

“Are we really going to keep all four?” Harry asked wonderingly.

“I don’t think we’ll have a say in the matter,” Draco said seriously, eyeing the way the birds flocked together.

“How are you going to keep word from getting out that you have phoenixes?” Harry asked. “They’re very ethical birds, you know. They wouldn’t favor a Death Eater.”

“I’ll say they’re yours,” Draco shrugged.

“And when they’re always around you?” Harry asked.

“I’ll say you’re mine,” Draco said affectionately.

“That won’t be good for your reputation either,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Draco shielded his eyes and gazed skyward again, “reputation isn’t everything,”

“That doesn’t sound like Draco Malfoy at all,” Harry teased.

“Maybe not,” Draco said. “But a fellow can change.”


	15. Chapter 15

It took another three days of research and experimentation for the staff to work out the right incantation to reverse the banishment. Professor McGonagall had a small recollection of an artifact in Professor Dumbledore’s archives that could help identify spell reversals, a pair of stones that glowed when the words of a spell were spoken to them. The original spell would inspire the first to shine, and the reversal would cause the other to shine similarly.

They worked tirelessly to pick apart the pronunciation of the original spell, using the ancient book’s writings as a guide and the Pensive to access the memory of the sound of Seamus Finnigan's sneeze. The professors worked around the clock, relieving each other when fatigue was too great to continue, and repeatedly refusing Granger’s offer to help. They kept themselves isolated, afraid the dark magic they were dabbling in would pose too much of a threat to the inexperienced students.

At night Harry only invaded Draco’s dreamworld for brief encounters, careful not to rob him of the restorative sleep he needed. He passed the hours of the night wandering around the school but always returned at daybreak to be there when Draco awoke. Draco felt more rested in the mornings but regretted how little time it left them to enjoy each other’s touch.

They passed the days getting to know their new feathered companions and spending time with Weasley and Granger. They took a carriage into Hogsmeade to purchase four perches, handcrafted from the finest materials at Draco’s insistence, of course. They tried to attach bands to each of the birds’ legs to easily tell them apart, but the birds would have none of it. So instead they had to find differences in their plumage to identify them. They spent some hours trying to teach them to come when called by whistle, and amazingly they were even able to hear Harry’s invisible whistle as well as Draco could.

“I don’t understand why my,” Harry struggled for the right word, “non-being doesn’t affect them. They see and hear me and touch me like anyone else.”

“Phoenixes transcend life and death” Granger said after Draco translated. “They’re practically immortal, and they can bring anyone back to life with a single tear, even if they’re on their very last breath. So you being not quite alive might not matter to them.”

“They’re the perfect pet for an invisible wanker like yourself,” Draco teased. He flinched reflexively as Harry’s reflection took a swipe at him, leaving a brush of warm resistance against the side of his face.

Just then front doors of the school flew open and Professor Sprout ran out breathlessly. “There you are! Come now, Filius has figured out the counter-incantation.”

They leaped to their feet and ran after her, the mirror bobbing along obediently behind them with the four birds perched on top. They rushed to the Headmaster’s office and burst in as the other staff were crouched around a pair of stones that glowed pinkly atop a stack of parchments.

“What does it mean?” Harry asked. “Draco, ask them what it means.”

“Harry wants to know if this means we can put him back in his body now,” Draco said lightly, although his heart was beating so hard that he was certain everyone in the room could hear it.

“It means we can try,” Professor McGonagall’s mouth was set in a tense line.

They trooped down to the Charms classroom and arranged themselves around the glass case. The life-death meter’s needle sat stubbornly between the two marks. Draco retrieved Harry’s shoes from the glass case and set them on the floor. Everyone was silent.

Draco looked up at Harry’s reflection and saw fear in his eyes. He reached out to the warm resistance where he stood and smiled encouragingly. “The worst that can happen is that it doesn’t work. It’s not going to make things worse.”

“I hope not,” Harry said nervously.

“Mister Malfoy,” Professor Slughorn instructed, “Please kneel before the shoes and place your hands on them. One hand on each.”

“Try to position them so you’ll touch both the shoes and Harry as he steps in,” Professor McGonagall added.

“Everyone get a good look,” Draco said as he lowered himself to the floor. “This is the one and only time you’ll see a Malfoy bowing at another man’s feet.” Harry chuckled and stepped gingerly into the shoes. Draco rested his hands along the sides of the trainers with his fingers trailing up the warmth of Harry’s ankles.

The life-death meter hopped. It rose to the three-quarter mark, just below the word Alive. Professor Slughorn withdrew his wand and with a practiced gesture uttered a complex series of noises that sounded more like the clearing of sinuses than a spoken language. A flash of light emitted from the tip of his wand and spread across the space where Harry stood. For a brief moment Draco could swear he saw the outline of the other boy’s body before it faded away.

“It moved!” Granger shouted. Sure enough the life-death meter had hopped again, bobbing within a mere millimeter of top and then sinking to the three-quarters mark again as the light of the spell dissipated.

Slughorn tried the incantation again,, and again Harry’s outline became briefly visible, the needle hopped, and sank back down.

“What’s wrong?” Weasley asked. “Why can we get so close but still not bring him back?”

Harry was silent, but in the mirror his expression was twisted and distressed. Draco looked up at him and felt his heart breaking. Why couldn’t he fix this for him?

“It will be okay, Harry,” he said softly. “I promise.”

Suddenly the phoenixes atop the mirror started twittering and chirruping, as though conversing amongst themselves. One by one they jumped down with wings extended and tail feathers trailing behind. Two of the birds hopped towards Harry and cried sharply, as though driving him back. They herded him out of the shoes with extended beaks and wings. They hopped until they stood on either side of him, and the other two hopped forward as though inspecting his shoes. Then as one, they each leaned forward and tilted their heads.

A shimmering teardrop fell from the first phoenix’s eye, landing inexplicably in mid-air on the invisible space that Harry’s right foot occupied. The second shed a tear on his left foot. The other two birds shed a tear on each of Draco’s hands. He watched as the water trickled down his skin and fell with a tiny plop onto the insoles of the shoes.

“Try again,” Granger whispered.

Harry stepped back into the shoes and Draco extended his fingers up the warmth of his legs. The life-death meter jumped dramatically so it was nearly touching the Alive mark. Draco could swear the air beneath his fingers became more substantial, more resistant.

“Now, Professor!” Granger cried.

Professor Slughorn raised his wand and thrust it firmly while uttering the complex congested syllables. An intense flash of light burst from the tip of his wand and bathed the hallway in its rays. Draco flinched but forced himself to squint up at the brightness above him. Before his eyes the air thickened, condensed, darkened, and finally became solid. As the light faded the life-death meter tipped that tiny remaining distance to the top and pointed unswervingly to Alive.

Harry blinked in surprise and looked around at the group, who stared back in slack-jawed stunned silence. He looked down at Draco, who was motionless, still grasping his ankles. A tear escaped the corner of Harry’s eye and he tentatively smiled.

“Hi,” he said softly. “Can you see me?”

Draco realized belatedly that tears were streaming down his face. He scrambled to his feet and threw his arms around Harry, driving him staggering back to the wall. He mashed his mouth against the other boy’s, covering him in desperate, tear-stained kisses. Harry curled his arms around him in return and squeezed back with his own grateful embrace.

Draco eventually released his lips and gasped for air as they butted their foreheads together. His hands raked through Harry’s hair and stroked his back as though reassuring himself that he was really there.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he whispered. “Don’t ever leave again.”

“I love you, too.” Harry’s tears started anew. “Don’t ever let me go.”

Draco kissed him again and again, and felt the agony of separation melt away. He didn’t care that they were surrounded by friends and colleagues who were impatiently waiting for their own chance to welcome Harry back. The way he saw it, he got first dibs. They could shake Harry’s hand and hug him once Draco had his fill.

“Oh sod off, Malfoy,” Weasley’s voice invaded the moment. “Let someone else have a turn.”

Draco stepped back reluctantly, but kept one protective arm wrapped around Harry’s waist. “All right, but just one kiss.”

Granger flung herself at Harry and hung off of his neck, weeping openly at the sight of him. Her tears stained the collar of his robe as the grief of losing her best friend poured out of her. Weasley gave him a manly back-thumping hug and a handshake, although his eyes brimmed with tears, too. Each of the professors hugged Harry and congratulated him on enduring the dark spell, and he thanked them profusely for their time and energy.

When the last person had embraced and welcomed him back, they stepped back and regarded each other introspectively. Finally Professor McGonagall waved her hands in a blustering dismissal and shooed them to the Great Hall for a much deserved meal. They shuffled collectively down the corridor towards the stairs, leaving Harry, Draco, the mirror, and the four phoenixes behind.

“Minerva, Filius, Horace, Sybill,” Draco addressed the birds, “Let me fix that for you.”

The four birds hopped off of the mirror and Draco transfigured it into an extra-wide perch that could accommodate the quartet comfortably. They fluttered and roosted delicately with a few pecks and a chirrup here and there as they resettled. He levitated the perch and beckoned it along behind as he and Harry made their way down the corridor. Harry grasped Draco’s hand tightly, and Draco firmly returned the pressure.

“Are you hungry?” Draco asked. “You haven’t had any food in almost a week.”

“That’s not what I want right now,” Harry said shyly, peeking from the corner of his eye.

“That’s what I had hoped you would say,” Draco smirked.

They picked up the pace and hurried back to Slytherin house. The four birds returned to their perches in the common room as Draco dragged Harry by his hand to the bedroom. They stumbled through the door and latched it behind them, hands raking at each other’s clothing.

Draco tore open Harry’s robe, scattering buttons and ripping the fabric. Harry whipped his glasses off and tossed them carelessly onto the desk as Draco slipped his tie free from his collar and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt. Harry pushed Draco’s black turtleneck up and yanked it over his head, then dropped his mouth to Draco’s chest for his first real world taste.

“Merlin,” he sighed. “You smell so good.”

“Come here,” Draco drew him up to his mouth and kissed him deeply as his fingers worked the enclosure on his trousers. He shoved them to the floor, then removed his own in one smooth movement. They paused for just one breath as their warm skin made first contact. Then Draco propelled Harry backwards to the bed.

Harry laughed as he flopped onto the pillow and Draco climbed on top of him. They pawed at each other eagerly, licking and tasting as though everything needed to happen at once. They rocked against each other, rubbing together and groaning with pleasure. Draco worked his way down Harry’s neck and ran his tongue up the groove alongside Harry’s throat. Harry tipped his head back to give him access and moaned softly as the sensation set off goosebumps all over his body. Draco moved down to his arms and ran his tongue across the goosebumps, kissing every bit of skin he could find.

“I need you,” Harry gasped as Draco gently sucked his nipple.

Draco nodded and slipped his hand between his legs, tracing eager circles around Harry’s entrance. Harry grunted desperately, his eyes glazed and feverish with want. Draco inserted one, then two fingers and played gently as the other boy’s body accepted the invasion. Harry tilted his hips and welcomed the pressure gratefully as Draco’s fingers worked gently. He whispered a wandless spell and conjured a slick palm, which he quickly ran over his knob and then pressed forward. He entered slowly, savoring the tightness of Harry’s body. He could feel the other boy’s muscles contract and relax as he pushed, slowly at first, then with more confidence.

They moved together, breath heavy and eyes locked in the thrall of intimacy. Draco grasped Harry and stroked eagerly as he thrust again and again. Harry’s cheeks were flushed and his lips parted slightly as he gazed up into Draco’s eyes. Draco leaned forward and kissed him briefly, too short of breath for anything more.

“I love you,” he whispered as he pushed, the heat of climax rising in his belly.

“I love you,” Harry nodded, his eyes unfocused and fluttering.

Draco could tell he was close. The bed creaked in rhythm and they gasped and moaned together as the heat rose. Suddenly Harry threw his head back and cried out, biting his lip to muffle the sound. The sight of him climaxing pushed Draco over the edge, and he came like a hammer strike, pushing furiously and grunting involuntarily.

The delicious sensation passed gradually, rolling back like the tide as their movement slowed. Draco finally slipped free and dropped to the mattress beside the other boy. Harry immediately rolled into his arms and breathed heavily against Draco’s pounding heart.

“Stay with me,” Draco said between breaths. “Forever and ever.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, squeezing his arms around him.

“We have to do this again,” Draco said, pulling his head back and admiring the other boy. He reveled in the sparkling clarity of his emerald green eyes.

“Definitely.” Harry grinned, dropping another kiss on his lips.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was almost midnight, and the students and staff were gathered in the Great Hall to count down to New Year’s. Harry and Draco were outside in the snow, watching their four feathered companions soar and wheel against the starry night sky. They walked hand-in-hand, enjoying a comfortable silence that seemed like such a luxury now that they had more than a voice to connect them. Their boots crunched through the ice-capped snow as they strolled leisurely down towards the lake.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Draco said. “Everyone still thinks I’m a Death Eater.”

“We’ll probably make the gossip column in the Daily Prophet,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“Borgin and Burkes are going to know those were their phoenixes,” Draco added.

“But they also think you have a way of seeing their secrets,” Harry reminded him.

“Some people may not like the idea of the two of us sharing a life,” Draco said a little quieter.

“I don’t care about some people,” Harry stopped and pulled Draco in close.

Just then the clock tower on the school tolled midnight and a great show of brilliant streamers and fireworks burst to life in the sky above the rooftop. The phoenixes cried out in protest and dove towards them, fluttering around their heads in an agitated cloud of glowing red and golden feathers.

“All right,” Draco said sternly. “That’s quite enough, get down here.”

The birds landed, each taking a shoulder for a perch. They folded their wings and cocked their heads at the dazzling display in the sky, cooing inquisitively in their throats. Draco eyed the one on his right shoulder, the one they had named Minerva. It tilted its head to peer at him, and then butted its head against his ear.

“We look like utter berks,” Draco said with cool disdain. The other bird, the one they had named Filius, plucked delicately at his hair for attention.

“We look like pirates,” Harry laughed, reaching up with both hands to offer Sybil and Horace a nuzzle.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Draco said.

“Happy New Year, Draco,” Harry grinned as the fireworks glinted off of his glasses.

“Happy New Year, Harry,” Draco smiled in spite of himself.

They leaned together and kissed, their hands lightly gripping each other’s coats. The Phoenixes extended their wings for balance and encircled them in a ring of red and golden feathers. Then, as one, they leaped into the air and took flight.

***************************************

THE END


End file.
